


Sulla Lulla

by Humbae



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Suspense, Violence, challenge, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbae/pseuds/Humbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When performing in a retirement home, things can go unexpectedly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started as an entry to Renebu's Christmas challenge: http://archiveofourown.org/collections/renebuchallenge

Tiny wet snowflakes fell heavily to the barren ground. The temperature was too high for them to collect into a proper cover of snow, but for a moment, they coloured the bleak streets and faded grass with a pure coating of white. Vegard hurried his steps and hitched the guitar case higher on his shoulder. The strap was chafing his dry skin, even through a heavy winter coat and a woollen jumper. He frowned in irritation and sniffed.

The lights of the retirement home shone in the distance. It was almost lunch time and the sun hung low on the sky, barely a hand's width above the horizon. He sighed and stepped around a puddle of nearly frozen water. The road to his destination was hardly more than a footpath, running between two fields of rotten weeds. The patches weren't cultivated; their purpose was to bring back memories of a rural childhood to the minds of the residents living in the home. Vegard blinked the gathering moisture off his lashes.

The invitation had been sincere: to bring a small dash of joy and beauty to the fading lives of the lonely souls waiting to move on. Vegard had seen no possibility of refusing such a request. His brother had taken his family to the South for the season and Calle was visiting his new wife's relatives in the North, leaving him alone on this mission. He had been promised a functioning piano, but prudence and past experiences made him take the guitar with him as a back-up instrument.

When he reached the main entrance of the building, he realised that an ambulance was standing next to a nearly hidden door at the side. For a moment he feared that his performance would be cancelled in order to show respect to whoever had passed, but the wide grin on the receptionist's face assured him otherwise as he stepped inside and to her desk.

"Welcome! You're a bit late," she said and glanced at the pink watch around her wrist. She seemed fond of the colour: her hair tie, shirt, belt and nail polish were all a bright shade of baby pink. Vegard averted his eyes and constructed a smile on his face.

"Sorry, it's getting slippery out there."

"Oh tell me about it! They said on the radio that there's been two accidents already! And it's getting colder, we'll have minus degrees tomorrow, mark my words!"

"Ah sure. Uhh where should I go get set up?" he asked and looked to his sides. Two long corridors led away from the reception desk, ending in closed glass doors.

"Oh, just follow me!" The receptionist locked her computer and grabbed a keychain from her desk drawer. She was surprisingly tall and robust when she stood up, but moved in a smooth agile way that reminded Vegard of a large cat.

"Everyone's so excited to hear you sing! The more chipper ones have been following you and your brother in the news, putting Norway on the map," she chatted as she led him towards the western corridor. She paused in front of the door to press a grey plastic badge against the reader. A muted click sounded and she pulled on the handle, indicating for Vegard to precede her.

"To the right," she said while waiting for the door to close. After it did, she yanked on it to make sure the lock had re-engaged. "These damn locks! Last week one didn't close properly and one of our residents walked through. I was just visiting the bathroom and she walked right past my desk and straight outside. Poor gal was freezing by the time our janitor noticed her out there in nothing but her pyjamas and a dressing gown. Can you imagine that?"

Vegard nodded, observing the brightly-lit building around him and only listening to the receptionist's chatter with half an ear. The ceiling was high, sporting several huge low-hanging lighting fixtures. There was no shortage of windows and in summer time the large room must be bathing in natural light. Now green curtains were drawn over each pane, hiding the darkness outside.

"You'll be performing here," the receptionist said and pointed to the centre of the room. The area had been built to focus in the middle, with several padded chairs and potted plants arranged on the sides, facing the dark blue circle on the floor in the middle of the otherwise light blue tiling.

"We sometimes have shows here, last time it was a magician with live animals. Oh dear, one of the bunnies escaped and how we laughed when she tried to catch it!" The receptionist paused to chuckle and Vegard managed a genuine smile at her mirth.

"The residents will start arriving in fifteen minutes, will you be ready for that?"

"Sure. I just need to - wait, where's the piano?" Vegard looked around the room, eyes not falling on any large instruments.

"Piano? We've never had a piano here."

"Oh. The woman I talked to said there'd be one."

"That must be Stine. She is such a scatter-brain! But I see you brought a guitar anyway so no harm done!" The never-fading smile on the receptionist's face looked forced, not reaching the slightly wrinkled skin around the corners of her eyes.

"No harm," Vegard agreed and set his guitar case down. The receptionist reminded him that they were wishing for a half hour set, no longer so it wouldn't interfere with lunch. He assured the woman that he'd keep the schedule. She nodded solemnly and left him to prepare for his performance, never giving him her name.

Vegard looked around for a chair. All the padded ones around the room were bolted to the floor. He couldn't spot a single unfastened one and turned to his guitar instead. Actually it was one of Bård's guitars, borrowed not entirely with permission. He'd need to adjust the strap to fit him snugly while standing and playing. That would be sure to drive his brother mad, Bård hated when people interfered with his settings. Vegard unclasped the case and picked up the golden beauty. He tossed the strap over his shoulder and tested the length. He could barely reach the strings, so some fine-tuning was in order.

While Vegard fiddled with the guitar, people started trickling into the room. Most of the elderly residents were quiet, shuffling with slippers on and keeping their sparse conversation low. A squadron of wheelchairs filled the spaces between the padded chairs and the potted plants. Vegard felt the faded eyes on him, observing his every move in anticipation.

"Excuse me," a woman in a navy blue cardigan and thick purple-rimmed glasses came to stand behind Vegard. He turned around and smiled at her, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

"Could I take a selfie with you?" she asked.

"You - uhh, sure!" Vegard stuttered, thrown off by the unexpected question.

"Oh sweetheart, just because I'm seventythree doesn't mean I don't talk with my grandchildren. I know all about selfies and lols and teabagging."

Vegard's eyebrows disappeared among his messy fringe.

"The last one I'm not so certain about."

"That selfie?" Vegard asked before the woman could ask him to explain the concept.

The woman smiled and came to stand next to Vegard. He leaned down to put his face on level with her bent form. She pulled out the newest iphone model from a pocket in her cardigan and engaged the camera.

"Say cheese!" she instructed and Vegard felt a genuine grin pull his lips wider. For the second picture, he pressed a kiss on her cheek, earning giggles and catcalls from the gathering audience.

"Clock is ticking," a young man announced. He had a badge on his light blue shirt naming him Morten. He couldn't be far into his twenties yet.

"Ah sorry," Vegard said and took the guitar in his hands. Satisfied with the strap length, he strummed the strings lightly, testing his grip and position.

Silence fell among the audience. Each pair of eyes, even the unseeing ones, were directed at the man in the centre of the room. He cleared his throat and hummed a short tune to warm up his voice.

There were no signs of impatience from the spectators. They had time to wait, to bask in the highlight of their day. Only some of the personnel checked their watches, unwilling to adjust their schedules.

When the man in the centre of the stage started playing in earnest, tickling familiar tunes out of the golden guitar, everyone's attention was glued to him. When he started singing, time ceased to exist.

The notes were clear and pure. The voice was like dark velvet, wrapping the listener in its warm embrace. The words, sung with so much emotion, brought tears to several eyes. The melodies took many back to their childhood, where the darkest time of the year was always bright, where even severe hardships were but challenges to be overcome together. The music led even the immobile ones to soar in the skies, free and fluid, unlimited.

The receptionist stood in the corridor, watching the man sing so beautifully from behind a corner. She kept her gaze trained on the brown eyes. She knew well who he was. No matter how blinded by the gift he was giving them the others were, she knew the truth. He was all surface. The core was twisted.

After a few achingly beautiful solo songs, Vegard invited everyone to join him on more upbeat popular Christmas songs. Many voices were eager to compliment his, nearly drowning out the slightly hesitant guitar. A couple of missed chords were nothing in the joyous cacophony shared by the entire room.

Out in the corridor, the receptionist swirled a drink in her hands. The dark red mulled wine clung to the sides of the glass, creating mesmerising patterns that slowly dripped down. The last remnants of white powder disappeared into the dark depths.

Vegard went five minutes overtime, but no one seemed to mind. The applause was thunderous when wrinkled, rheumatic hands came together in their desire to demonstrate their appreciation of the talented young man. Vegard bowed in every direction, feeling a slight flush redden his cheeks. He had been fully lost in the moment, feeling the music in his entire body, letting it flow out and erupt as sound. The response brought him back to his senses. The joy he witnessed on people's faces, hearing their voices rise to meet his were why he performed. The audience gave him meaning.

The personnel started guiding the residents away from the spacious room. Lunch would be served, on time as ever, precise like clockwork. Many of the residents stopped by to shake Vegard's hand and compliment him on the show on their way out to the corridor leading to the dining room in the western end of the building.

"My wife would've loved this! She always had an eye for darker men," one man noted. He was leaning heavily on a wooden cane and had a wicked twinkle in his blue eyes, framed by bushy white eyebrows. "Every holiday to the South she flirted with the waiters... Damn Julios and Enriques!" The man kept talking to himself, even after he passed through the doorway.

"Thank you for doing this," the receptionist from earlier said and handed a glass of mulled wine over to Vegard.

"It was absolutely my pleasure," Vegard said and smiled at her. He accepted the drink and took a careful sip. "Good thing I'm not driving," he noted when he tasted the traditional seasonal drink.

"Oh, it's non alcohol. Do you have far to walk?"

"Nah, just a couple of kilometres. Hopefully the snow has stopped, would be arduous to wade through it between the fields."

“They don't even plough that road at all, so few people use it. In fact only Kurt does so regularly and he's on sick leave for a month now, hurt his back, poor thing.”

“I better get going then,” Vegard said and finished his drink.

"Have a lovely Christmas!" the receptionist wished and took the empty glass with her as she disappeared through the nearest door.

Vegard remained to pack the guitar away, loosening the strap a bit. The sturdy fabric held no dents from the earlier position, leaving Vegard to only guess how long his brother usually had it. He stood up, guitar on shoulder, and felt a sudden wave of vertigo. He blinked his eyes a couple of times and the sensation passed. With a shrug, he grabbed his black coat and scarf and headed towards the way he had come from.

Before Vegard had time to worry about how to pass through the locked door, the receptionist appeared from somewhere behind him.

"I'll just let you out, shall I?" she said and pressed her badge against the reader.

Vegard thanked her, stammering a little bit, and entered the main lobby. He paused to put the guitar case down for a moment and pulled his coat on. As he bent to lift the instrument again, the dizziness returned, this time making him take a couple of sidesteps to keep upright. If the receptionist noticed anything odd, she didn't comment. Vegard turned around to give her a wave and opened the door.

Cold air assaulted him as he left the warm confines of the building. The snowfall had not stopped. It had intensified and small hard snowflakes whipped against his face in the strong wind. Angling his head down, Vegard started walking along the path taking him between the large fields. Everything around him was coated in white: it was in the air, on the ground, clinging to the tall trees lining the path. Sudden gusts of wind rocked him and he nearly lost his footing several times.

There were no streetlights along the path. Only tall trees stood between the fields and the road, blocking the retirement home from sight after the first turn. Vegard saw only white and grey around him, snowflakes hitting his face with enough force to hurt. He closed his eyes to protect them from the tiny projectiles. When he blinked them open again, he was looking at a layer of snow in front of his face. His cheek was pressed into the white mass, freezing the side of his face. Before he could even begin to process his situation, darkness took him.

Snow continued falling, slowly covering the man lying in the middle of the path.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello!” A red-haired woman in her late thirties stepped into the spacious lobby of the privately owned Fana retirement home. She shook some snow off her hat and stomped her feet to loosen the clumps clinging to the soles of her heavy winter boots.

“Well hello, Stine. You're fifteen minutes late,” the receptionist said, disapproval shading her tone.

“Ah sorry, was held up at the post office. Don't know what I was thinking, leaving it so late.”

“Will your package even make it? It's Christmas Eve tomorrow.” A blonde eyebrow rose, reaching for the wheat-coloured fringe that was held to the side by a pink hairpin.

“It won't. If I'm lucky, it'll make it before New Year's Eve. I'm such an idiot at times!”

The woman sitting behind the reception desk didn't reply. She brushed her chin-length hair behind her ears and kept her face neutral, not allowing her derision to manifest itself.

“Let me just get changed and I'll tag you out. You don't mind, do you?”

“Not at all, take your time.” The woman's mouth was smiling but her tone was frosty.

“Sorry!” Stine yelled as she disappeared through the glass door leading to the western wing.

The woman behind the desk allowed her smile to fade. Punctuality was a sign of respect towards others. Making them wait told how little you valued their time. She was used to her colleague's poor time management skills, but still her blood boiled with each new instance of it. And she was on a schedule that afternoon.

It had been two hours and fifteen minutes since the artist walked out through the main entrance. He had already been showing signs of the tranquilliser kicking in then, making her window narrow. With Stine coming to take over the front desk late again, her window narrowed further.

She looked through the large glass doors leading outside. Snow continued to flutter down, the small flakes visible against the lights shining from the building. Darkness had fallen swiftly. Only one day after the winter solstice, the sun had no place in the northern sky.

The woman tapped her foot against the floor. She had administrative work to finish on the computer, but Stine could just as well tackle checking the laundry bill and sending it to the finance department for processing. She resented the mundane secretarial work, but recognised the necessity. It was during those times that the pangs of regret at losing her old life caught her by surprise. She used to be so much more. She used to matter. She was never just surface.

“Sorry again!” Stine said as she rushed in. “Do you have lots of Christmas preparations left?”

“Some,” the blonde woman said and stood up. She lived alone and would spend the season alone, as her colleague was well aware of. Her preparations were limited to stocking the fridge in order to last through the holidays.

“You work tomorrow too, right?” Stine asked as she sat on the recently vacated chair.

“Yes. Admin side will be dead, but there should be an endless stream of families visiting.”

“Well I hope so! Christmas is no time to be alone,” Stine said and bent down to put her purse in the desk drawer. While she was turned away, she couldn't see the other woman glare at her, eyes squinted in anger.

“See you on Friday,” she said and headed towards the door at the side. She swiftly made her way down the hall and entered the staff's private room. She pulled her boots and jacket on, avoiding others who may be changing before heading home for the holidays. The building would be manned only by her and a limited number of other personnel in the coming days. She had no complaints about that: the less people were milling about, the happier she was. Slamming a woollen hat on her head, she headed outside.

An unbroken cover of snow stretched before her. She walked briskly forwards, unhindered by the lack of streetlights. The lamps standing outside the retirement home and what little shone down from the nearly hidden stars was enough illumination for her to walk on a smooth road. Her eyes kept scanning the uninterrupted expanse of white before her. As she advanced and the snowcover remained flawless, doubt was starting to intrude the calm in her mind. Had she lost her edge? Was her estimation so wildly off?

She took another bend in the path, the final one before it would disappear into a tunnel that allowed pedestrians and cyclists to get to the other side of a busy road without trouble. On that side, houses were littering the view and the town started forming. If the artist had managed to get to that side, her plan would be ruined. Someone would see him and take action. On the dark path, unseen at the edge of the hectic lives, he would remain waiting for her.

Her right foot was the first to encounter him. She stopped and took a step back, knowing what she had bumped against. Snow had almost hidden him from view. The guitar case on his back had taken the brunt of the flakes, not allowing them to melt from his body heat but piling on, the black conquered by white. His hair was similarly obscured, making him resemble the residents in the home.

"You're safe now," the woman said and took her fluffy orange mitten off her left hand. She brushed her fingers against his cold cheek, feeling the small coarse hairs of his stubble prickle the sensitive skin. "It's all okay now."

A prompt nudge against his shoulder made brown eyes blink and open. The woman shoved him again, pulling the gaze on her. Without a word, she knelt down to roll him on his side and slipped his left arm over her shoulder. With a grunt of effort, she pulled him up on his feet and held him steady as he swayed.

"Whuh?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes open. He was swiftly losing that battle.

"Just walk," the woman replied, not unkindly.

He tried to comply, but the effects of the sedative and the cold that had seeped into his limbs made him clumsy and uncoordinated. She bore most of his weight and pulled him back towards the retirement home in long, certain strides. Snow continued drifting down and filling the indents left by their footsteps, obscuring all signs of their passage.

The golden guitar remained behind, slowly disappearing from sight as a mass of white swallowed the black case.

The tall lamps outside the retirement home were barely enough to penetrate the swiftly thickening blizzard with the blades of their yellow lights. The woman guided them to the eastern wing, where a side entrance waited, dark and cold. The early autumn had been a time for change in the building. After a long battle of complaints about chronic symptoms, studies performed by professionals of varying qualifications and protests by the ailing personnel, the wing had finally been emptied and closed due to expansive growths of toxic mould in the underlying structures. With limited funds and unfavourable conditions, the repairs had been pushed off until the spring.

The woman was wise enough to know that 'delayed until financial reassessment has been performed' meant 'not in this lifetime'. The eastern wing would remain abandoned and ruined as long as she worked in the building. There were no champions for the elderly: even windmills were better protected.

They couldn't store their frequently used items like paper or bedcloths in the wing for fear of spreading harmful spores to the habited area. Thus all staff were forbidden to visit the side and the glass door leading from the lobby towards the east was bolted from within by the janitor. The side door outside, hidden from the main entrance and faced only by trees was still functional with the personnel's universal key badge. The woman directed them towards it, skirting around the fields of light in front of the building, hiding in the shadows she trusted.

By the time she had the door open, the artist was starting to come around. He was still leaning his weight on her and wouldn't remain upright on his own, but his head was raised and he was looking around, alert and nearly lucid.

"Where are we? What happened?" he asked, teeth chattering with the cold.

"Almost there," the woman said, using a reassuring tone that wouldn't be out of place calming down a wild animal or a young child.

"What's going on?"

"Shh!"

The woman led the artist along a long corridor. He followed reluctantly, but lacked the ability to resist her strength. There were several numbered doors on either side of the passage. Each room was still furnished, but devoid of all personal items of the people once residing in them. The health inspectors had deemed all linens and curtains to be destroyed, but the administrative staff were still waiting for the official permission to order burnable goods collectors to rid them of the materials. Even fire was no longer free.

At the end of the corridor, next to a utensils closet and a public restroom, the woman opened an unlocked door, marked 22 with faded dark blue letters, and pulled the artist inside. She pushed him against the bed, hearing a muffled yelp as he fell on the soft covers. With one quick movement, she slammed the door shut and flicked the switch, bathing the room in blindingly bright cold light.

She needed a moment to adjust to the change in illumination after guiding them through the dark. When she could see properly again, she opened a drawer next to the bed and took out a syringe. The artist saw what she held and tried to get up, but his movements were too clumsy to pull himself upright. The woman straddled him, pinning his right arm under her powerful thighs. The artist tried to wiggle free, failing mostly due to her superior control of her body.

"This won't hurt," she promised him as she pulled up his sleeves. The heavy winter coat was not snug enough to hinder her. Up came the double-layered black fabric, as well as the much looser dark blue sleeve of his jumper. She adjusted her position and snatched his left forearm under the prison of her legs. With experienced movements, she inserted the tip of the needle into his elbow, pushing the transparent liquid slowly in.

The man on the bed didn't struggle for long.

Once he quieted, she hopped off him and discarded the syringe into a container in the corner of the room. There weren't many other furnishings: the bed, the lidded trash can and the chest of drawers between the bed and the door. Her breath came out in visible clouds. Heating had been cut off in the eastern wing in order to save money for the renovation that would never come. She let the artist keep his coat but pulled his boots off. They flew into the container in the corner as well.

She hummed quietly to herself as she dug out the soft restraints fastened under the bed. She slipped them over his black jeans, securing the ankles. For the wrists she snaked the cuffs under his sleeves to give her access to his arms when she wanted it. She dug out a worn blue duvet from the lowest drawer and draped it over him. The temperature outside wasn't low enough that lying in the snow for just over two hours would be lethal, but he did need warming up.

Her first move was killing the lights. In the darkness, made complete by heavy curtains in front of the window, she unbuttoned her pink cardigan. The sound of her zipper was comically loud in the silence of the room as she pulled her blue jeans down. There was no steady hum of air conditioning to create the familiar background noise in all public buildings; another measure to keep the costs low and to isolate the poor air from the inhabited wing.

She unhooked her bra and allowed it to fall on the floor next to her black panties. Lifting a corner of the duvet, she slipped in under it and opened the large wooden buttons on the man's winter coat. One by one they gave her access to him, shedding the protection of the heavy fabric. She leaned closer, her naked body pressing against the soft material of his dark blue shirt. Her hand found his crotch and rested there.

"It will all be fine," she purred and caressed the coarse denim flap hiding his zipper with her fingers. "I'll fix you."

*****

Vegard felt something vibrate in his pocket. It felt unpleasant against his thigh and he tried to reposition his leg. The movement was stopped by a force gripping his ankle. With a slight frown creasing the skin between his closed lids, Vegard tried to tug his limb free. The force held on.

His eyes felt grimy and dry. A lot of furious blinking was required before he felt his lids move smoothly over the contacts again. He couldn't recall going to sleep. Or taking a nap. Or even lying down.

The room he was in was dark and very cold. He could make out where the window was, but a heavy curtain blocked most of the light trying to seep through. He was fairly certain his breath didn't form clouds in the air, but it was a close call. He couldn't see any features of the room. The ceiling was there, but it was just an expanse of grey. Turning his head allowed him to see the window and the opposite side of it: a dark mass of nothing.

Anxious to find out what was happening, Vegard tried to move his hands to push himself upright on the bed. His movement was again abruptly stopped by something gripping his wrists. He raised his head and looked down, but he couldn't make out anything other than a grey blanket covering his body.

"He-hello?" Vegard called out, dry throat hurting. His mouth couldn't provide him with any moisture for swallowing.

"Hello!" he raised his voice, only to be met with silence again. Tugging and wiggling his arms and legs only made his wrists and ankles hurt and contributed nothing to his efforts of freeing himself. The restraint on his right arm didn't give him enough leeway to slip his fingers into his pocket, even when stretching his hips as close to the hand as possible.

The phone had ceased vibrating and silence reigned in the room. As the stillness stretched, fear started to settle in. The fuzziness in Vegard's mind cleared and he realised he was trapped. He couldn't even begin to guess where he was. The last thing he remembered was the white surrounding him. He had performed in a retirement home and started walking towards his parents' house after it. The sun had only just begun to set at that point.

"Is anyone there?" Vegard shouted. The darkness pressed down on him until he felt like it was trying to suffocate him. How much time had he lost?

"Please!"

No one reached back for him.

*****

She thought about him all night. After the visiting hours were over, after the residents had been fed for the final time that evening and everyone had left except for the scant nightshifters, she exited the room and slipped out of the building unseen. She made her way home, stopping only to buy some groceries and other necessities.

She ate soup and watched the national news on the television. There was no one to keep her company, so her thoughts turned to the man she would save. He rested now, waiting for her. She felt a tingling somewhere at the bottom of her stomach. He was there, just for her. She had spent a couple of hours lying next to him, soaking in the warmth of his body, listening to his steady breathing.

It felt good to have someone by her side. As she lay alone in her own bed, she wondered. How would his hand around her shoulders feel? Once she fixed him and he was purified, maybe he would hold her close, pull her in and squeeze. She slipped her fingers inside her underwear. They were cold at first but soon warmed up as she touched herself. His warm brown irises flashed before her eyes as she rode the waves of pleasure.

She fell asleep with his name on her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Bård was sitting under a palm tree. The sun was shining, a gentle breeze was rustling the large leaves and his children were laughing while splashing in the nearby swimming pool. His current state was so stereotypically blissful that he thought a song might be hiding in it.

"Sitting under a palm tree, pina colada in my hand, and suddenly I see..." he quietly hummed to himself, tasting the words and finding the first tentative stirrings of melody. He'd probably let his brother tackle the finer details of the music, but he wanted to find the rhythm and the spirit of the song for himself first. If he ever fully developed it. Sometimes ideas blossomed and died within an hour, to be forever forgotten afterwards.

The ringing of his phone interrupted the potential creation process. Bård considered not answering, but a quick peek at the lit screen showed it was Vegard's wife.

"Aloha!"

"Have you spoken with Vegard since yesterday?"

"No, the last time was on Monday I think," Bård replied, waiting for an explanation for the question.

"Shit!"

"What's going on? Isn't it the middle of the night there?" Bård asked, comprehension that something was wrong dawning on him. The woman on the other end of the line sounded distressed, more so than Bård could ever remember witnessing her before.

A short recount of events came out in a jumbled cascade of words. Vegard and his family were staying at their parents' house in Fana, as Bård was well aware of. He also knew about the performance in the nearby retirement home where he and Vegard had been invited to. He'd had to decline on grounds of being on the other side of the globe, but his brother had gone solo. Apparently Vegard had failed to return from said visit and didn't answer his phone.

His wife had called the retirement home late in the evening, only to be told that Vegard had left directly after his show, around their lunch time. The police were less than helpful, refusing to take immediate action since her husband was a healthy adult, but inviting her to visit the station if he hadn't returned later in the following day. With a trembling voice, she told Bård that the police had even hinted that Vegard might have chosen to disappear. Christmas was a stressful time and that combined with three small children and a busy life could lead to taking a little break.

Bård gripped his phone with enough force to make the plastic creak.

“You don't believe that crap, do you?” Bård asked his sister-in-law. “You don't seriously think Vegard would be capable of that?”

“No, of course not.” Her conviction sounded frail. “But if he didn't go somewhere on his own... well then where is he?”

The question shattered the protective layer of anger in Bård's mind. His brother was punctual to a fault. If he had promised to return directly to allow his wife to take the afternoon to herself and go shopping while he watched the kids, then it would require something momentous for him to break his word.

“He hasn't called you? Or messaged?” he asked, desperately clinging to practical matters to quiet the voice whispering frightening things in his ear.

“No, nothing. And he won't answer his phone, I've tried all day. It rings but he doesn't pick it up.”

“Then at least we know it's still on. Do you have his password to the 'find my phone' service?”

“No,” she sounded close to tears.

“That's okay. You'll go to the police tomorrow and they can sort it out. As long as the phone is on, they can trace it.”

“What if it's not?”

“It is, so nothing to worry about.” Bård's voice conveyed unwavering assurance and confidence that he didn't feel. His heart was hammering madly in his chest and he was glad to be sitting down.

"Maybe he just lost his phone and went somewhere and forgot to let you know. When he turns up in the morning we'll all have a good laugh about this."

"I hope so," the woman on the other end said, not daring to grasp the feeble hope.

"Let me know immediately when he returns so I can yell at him for nearly making me spill my drink in worry," Bård smiled. His cheeks hurt from holding up the false cheer.

"I will," his brother's wife promised and ended the call. Bård was left with a mute phone in his hand and an overwhelming need to go home.

"Who was it?" his wife asked, reading the distress on her husband's face. "Don't say it's nothing, I can see something's happened."

"Well it probably is nothing. Vegard didn't return when he said he would last night. Probably just forgot to call his wife and went out for drinks or something."

Bård's wife raised a single eyebrow, as if challenging her husband to acknowledge the improbability of his assumption.

"Right. When are you going back?" Her eyes were earnest, unwavering as they found his.

"I'd rather not jump to conclusions before we know anything for sure."

Blue eyes pierced his. A delicate eyebrow rose to join the other one.

"There's a flight tomorrow morning," Bård finally admitted and showed her his phone where he had the schedules looked up.

"Just in case," he said and attempted a grin.

*****

Time does not exist in the dark. Vegard thought he must have lain awake for hours, but the sky refused to lighten. Physical discomfort was starting to override his fear. He was achingly thirsty, wanted to change position and needed to visit the bathroom. The inactivity was numbing him, but sleep offered him no refuge.

He moved his toes, trying to get the blood flowing and find some warmth. Boredom and insecurity battled in him, making him wish for something to happen, yet dreading it. He kept hoping that he was the victim of a practical joke, one in staggeringly bad taste. When he was released he would give whoever had captured him a piece of his mind.

After he downed a litre of water. He licked his dry, chapped lips, trying to find some moisture to spread there with little success.

"Hello!" he tried shouting into the darkness. Not even an echo replied him.

"You got me, I'm suitably scared. Now could you please let me go?"

Vegard listened, holding his breath for a moment to catch even the slightest whisper. He released a deep sigh. There was nothing.

He dry swallowed and grimaced. It was unfair how he could be simultaneously desperate for a bathroom and acutely thirsty. He wondered if his family had noticed he was gone yet. He had promised his wife to watch the kids for the afternoon to allow her to do some last minute Christmas shopping. She would be furious when he failed to show up.

A depressing thought struck Vegard: when he'd next see light peek through the heavy curtains, it would be Christmas Eve. If his brother was responsible for this prank, Vegard swore his retribution would be merciless. The small voice at the back of his head that tried to convince him that Bård wasn't this cruel, would never be able to cause this much discomfort to his brother was drowned in Vegard's scenarios of payback.

With the promise of mischief on his mind, Vegard nearly managed to distract himself from the situation. His feet were numb and his back hurt, but he could ignore those pains in favour of planning an elaborate scheme involving a busy market place and a pink nightgown. He could probably get Calle and Magnus to assist him as well, as long as he promised no actual harm would come to his brother.

A sudden noise shattered Vegard's half-lucid fantasies. His phone started vibrating again in his pocket. Despite his frantic reaching and straining, Vegard couldn't get his fingers close enough to brush the screen. The skin around his wrist got chafed red against the coarse restraint, all in vain. Eventually the sensation against his thigh ended and silence filled the space, louder than before.

Vegard blinked his sore eyes and looked to the window. He wasn't sure if the sky had actually lightened a bit or if he was merely imagining that the darkness beyond the curtain was less absolute. A faint rumbling sound became apparent and Vegard added hunger to his list of complaints. He had to commend his brother for the effective prank, even if he thought the little bastard had gone too far. He couldn't see where the cameras were, but Vegard was convinced several were trained on him, capturing his every move in the pale green tones of night vision filming.

*****

A blonde woman sat behind the reception desk of a relatively large retirement home. She was internally seething with rage, but on the outside she looked serene as she smiled at the people entering the building and greeting her with wishes for a joyous season. Her replies sounded genuine and the red hat on her head with a bell on its tip caused hilarity. Many thanked her for bringing cheer to them on their often sombre visits. She took the words in and replied with just the right amount of humility to sound sincere.

A chance encounter had spoiled her plans for that morning. She had looked forward to returning to room 22 all night, imagining the warm welcome she would receive. One of the young nurses using her path had ruined her intentions of visiting him before the shift started. The nurse had yammered on about her car breaking down and forcing her to walk instead of driving and how tragic it was to leave half an hour earlier on such a cold day.

The blonde woman could only nod and agree, fervently wishing the young nurse would go away. They had entered the building together and gone to shed their outside clothes together. The young nurse had even had the audacity to stand by the reception desk, chatting aimlessly while she started up the computer. When she finally left, it was already too late to slip away unnoticed.

But the artist would wait for her. She was sure of it. He would be delighted to see her again and welcome her with open arms. She would withhold from giving him what he wanted. The work would be slow, but once she was done, he would be a better, purer person for it. And he would thank her for taking care of him.

He would need water soon. A swift glance at her pink wrist watch told her the schedule would be pushed back a few hours because of the delay, but she was still in safe zone. As long as nothing unexpected hindered her further, things would proceed smoothly.

"Morning!" A young man entered the lobby area from the western wing.

"Hello Morten," the woman replied, allowing her face to light up with a bashful smile.

"Will you be here at four still? The staff are gathering then for a small get-together, there might be some exchanging of presents and mulled wine too," he said with a wink.

"My shift ends at four and I have some matters to attend to, can't make it, sorry!" she said, feeling none of the regret she expertly coloured her voice with.

"Oh, that's a shame! Couldn't you pop in just for five minutes?"

She took a moment to consider it. Morten looked at her expectantly, like a puppy wagging its tail clumsily when waiting for a treat. He had harboured a crush on her as long as she had worked in the building, just over two years that coming spring.

"I'll see what I can do. Perhaps I could slip out a little bit early."

"That would be great! See you there!" Morten said and turned to go back the way he had come from, waving his short but muscular arm.

She rested her eyes on the door for a moment after it closed. He was pathetic. All sound and movement and surface. He probably thought he was being subtle too in his attempts to gain her attention. With a scoff she turned her focus on the computer, burying herself in work.

The growling of her stomach several hours later pulled her out of the trance and made her aware of the passed time and the silence around her. She could slip away, for just one moment. It was nearly lunch time, so the families wouldn't be visiting, knowing how important routine and schedule were for the residents of the home, many who struggled with failing memories and needed that structure for their days.

She looked left and right and listened. Nothing stirred in the vicinity. With dexterous fingers, she locked the computer and grabbed her keychain and a bottle of water she was hiding in the drawer under the reception desk. On silent feet she headed for the main entrance and pushed it open. Her in-doors sandals were not meant for two inches of snow, but she ploughed on heedless of her socks getting wet. She made a large semi-circle from main door to side entrance, wishing to not leave obvious tracks in the unbroken cover of white.

The door opened soundlessly. She made sure it locked behind her and proceeded down the unlit corridor. Her feet knew the way to room 22 in the half-light of the low-hanging sun. All the electronic locks on the personal residence doors had been disabled in the eastern wing. She pressed the handle down and pulled the door open. A flick of the switch made strong fluorescent light bathe the room, making the man on the bed flinch violently in surprise.

She waited by the door until he trained his blood-shot brown eyes on her. His cheeks were pale and the tip of his finely shaped nose bright pink. She saw no flash of recognition on his face.

"He-hello?" he finally said after he closed his mouth and stopped blinking.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, holding the bottle of water high enough to enter his line of sight.

"Sure?"

"You will," she promised and smiled.

He opened his mouth obediently and without hesitation when she approached it with the bottle. He would've downed the entire thing with no pause, but she pulled away after half the water was gone.

"Can I have the rest?" he asked, licking his lips.

"Later. Anything else you need?"

"Well my eyes really hurt. Untie me so I can take out the contacts? You should've taken that into account," he said and looked at the ceiling, searching the corners with his eyes. She followed his gaze but saw nothing fascinating there.

"I'll take care of it," she said and stepped closer to him, raising her hands near his eyes.

"No!" He tried to back away from her approaching fingers. "Okay, this has gone too far, time to end it."

"Just be still now," she scolded and cupped his full cheek with her right hand.

"No! Seriously, this is enough! Go to Bård and tell him I won't play along anymore. I wanna go home now."

"Be quiet. Your brother is irrelevant."

"Look, I don't know what your instructions are, but this act is over. You can tell him I was suitably scared. And that pink lolita thing you've got going on is creepy, but a little bit over the top. So just let me go now, okay?" He breathed heavily and looked the woman straight into her grey eyes.

"No," she said and casually slapped him on the cheek. The sound seemed to echo in the empty room, a harsh impact with the open palm.

Brown eyes widened. She forced the lids to stay open and plucked his disposable lenses out with sure hands. He was left blinking in stunned silence. Any security he might've felt deserted him and he seemed to huddle into himself, avoiding her gaze with hunched shoulders.

“Now was that so bad?” she asked while emptying her hands into the bin in the corner.

He observed her, all defiance gone. His stillness reminded her of some of the residents at the home: the ones who no longer knew where they were and treated all personnel as a threat. There had been incidents where the residents became hostile in their fear, attacking the nurses who tried to help them. Hence they had a stash of restraints, easily fastened to the hidden frame under each bed, an unseen security that was rarely used.

"I need to use the bathroom," he eventually said, voice low and even.

"No," she replied and came to loom over his head. Her position messaged power, looking down on his helpless form. She didn't enjoy making herself the master, but if he was to change, he needed to obey her without question. The first step was always the hardest.

"Come on, I really need to go," he pleaded, scrunching his eyebrows slightly.

"What are you willing to give up for the privilege?"

"What? It's a human need, not a privilege!" heat entered his voice, making his syllables less clearly enunciated, almost blending into each other.

"I could consider a trade."

"You're insane," he said with dawning wonder, as if tasting the words with the realisation.

Their exchange was interrupted by a faint rumbling coming from under his blanket. She raised her eyebrows and pushed her hair behind her ears before approaching the bed. She bent to dig his phone out of his pocket, struggling with the tight fit. The vibrating black item looked large in her slender fingers.

"And who is Bårdu-san, I wonder?" she said as she read the name of the caller on the lit screen.

"No one, leave him out of this."

"Do you honestly think I don't know who you are, Vegard?" she scoffed.

He reacted to his name, flinching against his will. She smiled pleasantly at him before throwing the phone against the opposite wall. Pieces of plastic and metal flew as the fragile object hit the immovable obstacle with surprising force. The rumbling ceased immediately.

The woman hunkered down and plucked the biggest pieces off the floor. The screen had gone dark and cracks ran across it. The battery was still in a single unit, but it would never again fit the twisted frame of metal it was meant for. She dumped it all in the container in the corner and turned back towards the man on the bed.

“I don't have much time now, but we'll get back to this. You shouldn't have hidden that phone from me,” she told him, staring in his eyes. He was the first one to escape the gaze.

She allowed her contempt to show on her face. Another minute of her unwavering eyes piercing him slipped past in silence. There would be no more interruptions. Less than ten steps took her to the narrow chest of drawers next to the bed. She dug out a syringe and pulled his sleeves up, ignoring his futile attempts at struggling against her. The clear liquid went in and soon he was still.

She waited for another minute. When she was certain he was asleep, she unfastened the restraints around his ankles. Her hands slipped under his pant leg almost on their own and caressed the skin there. Short hairs tickled her fingers and a small smile played on her lips. This felt right, this felt good. She moved closer to his head and gently touched the side of his cheek, feeling the softer skin under the sensitive pads of her fingers.

A slap broke the silence of the room, echoing off the bare walls. He didn't stir.

Her hands worked the restraints around his wrists and allowed them to dangle down from the bed. She exited the room and entered the utility closet on the other side of the wall. She came back with a wheelchair that she parked next to the bed. Something metallic jingled faintly in her cardigan's pocket. With practised movements, she pulled his body on the chair, mindful of the limply hanging head. When he was settled, she pushed him to the nearby public restroom.

There were two stalls and a hand-washing area with two sinks in the small bathroom. She opened the nearest pale grey door and engaged the breaks on the wheelchair. Slipping her arms under his, she lifted him down on the floor, positioning him to lie as straight as she could in the limited space. A flash of silver heralded a metallic clink as she handcuffed his right wrist to a radiator behind the toilet seat.

Without a word, she pushed the wheelchair out of his reach and exited the room, closing the door but leaving the lights on behind her. She had four more hours left of her shift before she could return again.


	4. Chapter 4

Vegard woke up with a pulsating headache. His mouth was dry and his right arm radiated discomfort up his shoulder, stretching his back painfully. He tried to pull the arm closer to his body to ease the unpleasant tingling, but something stopped his movement. Memories started returning sluggishly. The dark room. The warm blanket. The woman.

Brown eyes blinked open. There was no woman in this room, and certainly no warm blanket. Vegard was lying in an awkward position on a hard tiled floor. He didn't suddenly become cold, but he became aware of being cold, his limbs shaking and his body wanting to curl into itself. His eyes found where his right hand was trapped, stretched to reach a radiator about a foot off the ground. The white object in front of his face puzzled him for a moment until he realised it was a toilet bowl.

“Fuck!” Vegard hissed to himself. He climbed on his knees and would've fallen back down without the bathroom stall wall stopping him. The pale grey plywood held him still as the world revolved wildly around his head. Closing his eyes only made the vertigo worse so he forced them open, staring at the back wall with smudged white tiles. The radiator was fixed to the building, disappearing behind the flimsy walls on the sides. The place had the smell and feel of a public restroom. At least Vegard figured a private one in someone's home would be larger or hold some personal objects like a toothbrush. Not that there was a sink in the stall, Vegard realised as he looked around. The door behind him was closed but not locked with the simple latch that hung loose. He couldn't reach to kick the door open, his legs falling short by a couple of meagre inches.

As a pragmatic man, Vegard took care of his pressing business as soon as he trusted himself to stay on his feet long enough to sit down. With the right hand cuffed low on his side, he was in an awkward position but he could make it work. He flushed with his left and yearned to wash his hands.

Getting back on the floor was easy, but Vegard soon noticed that the cold seemed to seep in quicker on the bare surface. His winter jacket was inadequate when faced with the ceramic tiles that had had no heating running under them all winter. He closed the lid of the toilet and sat down on it, hugging his knees close to his body with his left arm, slipping them under the thick fabric of his coat. His right hand and shoulder were aching in the stretched position and his fingers were numb and immobile, but he could endure it to avoid staying on the floor.

“Hello?” Vegard shouted into the silence. “I'm done now and really cold!”

The waves of dizziness felt like physical blows pushing his head in different directions. Vegard found himself taking support from the walls as he almost toppled over. After a couple of near misses – including one where he smacked his head against the grey plywood – he decided that lying on the floor was the wiser choice after all, cold be damned.

"Hello?" Vegard tried again. He wiped his nose and sniffed. The low temperature made his breath mist, sending small clouds up to dissipate near the ceiling. He was vaguely certain it hadn't been this cold when he left the retirement home... however long ago that had been.

Vegard tried to roll over and ease himself into a position where his right arm wouldn't be hurting. The small space restricted his possibilities and he had to settle with just turning his lower body closer to his arm. The endless waves of dizziness rocked him, making him suddenly slam his left hand on the floor to brace against movement that wasn't there. His head continued to pound, an incessant tapping against his skull, sparking mild nausea in the back of his brain.

If Vegard had still been clinging to the hope that he was being pranked, those illusions faded further with each passing moment. There was no way to measure time in the cramped bathroom stall, but Vegard's body suggested that minutes kept slipping by. His toes got progressively icier and his stomach pinched him painfully. Shivering seemed to make the cold less stinging, but the small movement only emphasised how unsteady he felt.

"Anyone?" he tried again, mostly to hear something, even if it was his own voice. The utter silence oppressed his spirits surprisingly fast, like he was suspended in a dream where nothing moved. He couldn't picture the situation changing: he was existing in this moment and there was nothing beyond it.

"Please," Vegard whispered. Thirst had sunk its hooks in his throat, making each utterance come out hoarse and hurting. He eyed the toilet greedily, but decided he wasn't quite that desperate yet.

Vegard wondered who the woman was. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Her age must be somewhere around forty, hinted at by the generally smooth skin, but with slight wrinkles around the corners of her eyes and mouth. He was undecided whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that she knew who he was. His status as a public figure might prevent her from hurting him, or encourage her to be more brutal than she otherwise would be.

Uncertainty taunted Vegard. Not knowing what he stood against made it impossible to prepare himself. What did the woman want? She had made no demands, shown no interest in money or getting her voice heard. Perhaps she wasn't the brains behind the operation. Perhaps she was the 'good cop' in the set-up. The options were terrifying.

The line of thinking made Vegard shudder. It was recognisable amidst his constant shivering as a larger movement that made his shoulder jerk painfully. He could no longer feel or move the fingers in his right hand and the visible skin on it had turned an unattractive shade of pale blue. The left hand was tucked inside his coat, whenever it wasn't braced against the floor to keep him from tipping over.

_Cold and dizzy_ , Vegard thought with almost desperate amusement. _No whimpers or bangs here, just the clinking of icicles hanging from my fingers._

Vegard snorted. It appeared that isolation and deprivation had driven him mad in record time. He tried to dig deeper into his coat, covering his knees and thighs in the thick material. His toes were a lost cause: the black jeans were too tight to leave any space in the pant legs to tuck his feet into.

His thoughts turned towards home and his family. He didn't know if they were safe or not. He had no recollection of anything after his performance at the retirement home. He could only hope that his family had not been involved in whatever had happened to him. Bård was at least safe, probably sitting under a palm tree on a blindingly white sandy beach, sipping a girly cocktail. Vegard screwed his eyes shut and tried to picture the scene. The sun would be blazing in his brother's face, emphasising his freckles when the pale skin reddened under the merciless rays. Bård wouldn't be sweaty: it took more than the tropical sun to lure out even the smallest droplet on his high forehead. A smile tugged at Vegard's dry lips. He saw the hideous neon green shorts he had given his brother as a Christmas present. His wife would probably make him wear them since they were a gift. He could almost hear the children giggle and snap pictures of their father while Bård would try to appear cool and nonchalant with a bright red face. Sometimes it was too easy to embarrass his brother.

Vegard wiped his nose again. The tip of it was icy cold and numb. He swiftly tucked his hand into his pocket. He had a tissue there, but bringing the paper near his face required more dexterity and coordination than he had. At least his head seemed to have found a rhythm that rocked him regularly, going left with a wide circle before pausing to throb, and then resuming the motion. Vegard was sure he would've puked his guts out if there had been anything to bring up. Another round assaulted him and he stiffened himself against the floor, prepared to stay still against the wave.

He could've killed for a drop of water. Just one drop to lubricate his mouth and ease the pain in his throat. He thought he could taste blood on his dry lips. Even that moisture seemed enticing. He almost regretted peeing earlier: although uncomfortable, at least he would've had more liquid inside him.

"Do you even hear your own thoughts?" Vegard croaked out loud. He grinned at his own stupidity and this time he definitely felt his lips pull painfully apart and crack. He was swift to lap those droplets into his mouth, cringing at the taste but swallowing anyway. Doing so didn't make him feel any better.

Another stronger shudder ran through Vegard, making his shoulder grind against the floor agonisingly. He got his knees under him and leaned against the grey wall, easing the pressure on his arm. Blood refused to flow to his right hand that had turned pale purple with circular orange areas now. He attempted flexing the fingers but only managed to make them twitch minutely, sending a zap of pain through the delicate extremity.

“Hello?” he asked again, prepared for the silence that answered him. Desperate to break the desolation, he lowered his head to look around. He couldn't see anything of interest when he peeked under the stall walls, just the dirty floor and a closed door on the other side of the room. Jerking the radiator made his dizziness worse, and the metal contraption refused to even budge. Vegard left it alone. Chances were he'd be doused in freezing water if he somehow managed to loosen it.

The cold tiles met him as Vegard laid back down, shoulder and hip painfully pressing against the unyielding surface.

*****

Bård spent Christmas Day travelling. His celebrations the previous day with his family had been bleak at best. His mood was abysmally dark and the children picked up on it, muting their joy accordingly. Bård felt sorry for ruining the holiday for them, but he couldn't shake the overwhelming worry tearing his insides apart. His phone never made it far from his hands and each chirp of it had him rushing to answer.

The lack of news was disconcerting. His brother's wife would occasionally send him a text with the much too familiar and dreaded words: 'nothing new'. Vegard hadn't returned home, hadn't sent a single message, wouldn't answer his phone. Bård kept trying to call him, listening to the beeping until he was switched over to voice mail time after time. He only left one message, begging his brother to contact someone if he was able to. When he called again three hours later, in the middle of the night, the phone went dead and wouldn't connect on any of his later tries.

The snowy fields flying past below Bård's eyes would've been beautiful under any other circumstance. Now the blankness seemed to mock him. The plane was descending gradually, jostling the passengers with a few bumps. Bård gripped the armrests and wished fervently that Vegard was there to explain to him for the millionth time with his soothing voice how turbulence happened. The silence only made Bård more acutely aware of the fear that always clutched him during this part of the flight.

He had contacted the police himself as soon as it had been morning in Norway after learning about his brother's disappearance, but they refused to discuss the matter extensively over the phone. The withholding of information by the authorities made Bård's need to return home even more pressing. Their parents were keeping it together, presumably for the benefit of his brother's children, but they had to be dancing on the edge. His wife was a mess, which Bård found almost surprising. He would've expected her to relentlessly turn every stone until she found her husband, but her voice held no battle in it when Bård called her, just exhausted defeat. It was almost like she had given up already, without putting up a fight or knowing what she was up against.

A lifeless female voice announced the cancellation of a flight as Bård made his way through the nearly deserted airport. He had never seen the place populated by so few folk. Finding his father was easy: he was the only one waiting at the arrivals gate, dressed in sombre black and grey. Bård could almost imagine him in a similar attire, attending a funeral. He shook his head to clear the unproductive thoughts. His brother would turn up soon, and he would raise all sorts of hell at him for making him cut his vacation short.

“Had a good flight?” his father asked Bård after they greeted each other.

“Uneventful,” Bård replied. He had managed a couple of hours of sleep during the long passage, but he was tired and despondent. His negative thoughts would allow him no rest.

“Your mother has made meatballs.”

Bård grunted in reply. Food was far from his priorities, but he recognised the prudence of nourishing his body to keep it going in optimal condition. Anything to assist in sorting out the situation and finding the truth.

“Can I borrow the car to go visit the police station later?” Bård asked.

“They're not open for visitors today. Or tomorrow.”

“I can't wait for that long! Who knows what will happen while we sit around with our thumbs up our asses!”

“You can call the detective on the case, we have a direct number.”

“Has he been helpful so far?” Bård asked, voice dripping sarcasm. If the police truly had been helpful, his brother would be home already.

“He's doing the best he can with the limited resources. You know what it's like during Christmas time,” his father reminded him.

Bård felt an utter lack of understanding. He bit back a sarcastic retort and lapsed into silence. They walked to the car in the half-empty, snow-covered parking lot, put Bård's light luggage in the back seat and drove to the house on the outskirts of the town without uttering another word. Bård put the radio on but turned it back off when the up-beat Christmas music started grating on his nerves. The short drive had seldom felt that long.

If Bård thought the mood in the car was oppressive, he could barely tolerate being in the living room with his brother's wife sitting mutely on the couch and staring listlessly out through the window, her haggard appearance reflecting the bleakness within. Bård was greeted with great enthusiasm by the children, but that was the extent of cheer in the house. His mother hugged him for uncomfortably long, clinging to the one child she knew was safe under her own roof.

Bård escaped to his old bedroom soon after arriving with the excuse of putting his stuff away. He longed for the solitude but also feared it, since his mind started concocting possible scenarios of the horrors that could've befallen his brother with nothing to distract him. He returned downstairs to be around other people in order to quiet his cruel imagination. He had to believe that the truth was kinder.


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Vegard out of the light drowse he had fallen into. A subtle increase in the illumination and an onslaught of colder air signalled that someone had opened the door to the stall. It took Vegard a moment to get his cold limbs cooperating enough to raise himself to a sitting position. He squinted up at the form standing in the doorway.

The woman looked annoyed: her delicate eyebrows were scrunched and the lines around her mouth pronounced. Vegard's attention was drawn and fixed to the full bottle of water she carried in her hands. He licked his dry lips and swallowed. She followed his line of sight and nodded, a smile spreading on her grim face.

"I brought this just for you," she said and handed the bottle over. Vegard eagerly reached for it with his free hand, nearly dropping the transparent blue plastic cylinder from his stiff fingers. The cap was the kind that didn't need to be screwed but simply pulled up. Vegard jammed top of the bottle between his teeth and yanked on it, causing the water to splash enticingly within. He took one small sip at first and held it in his mouth for a moment, feeling the moisture return to his parched cheeks. He swallowed the cool liquid and shuddered as he felt it slide down.

Within a minute Vegard had emptied the half a litre bottle. The water sat heavily in his stomach and he knew he had drunk it too fast. Another shudder ran through him, this time from the cold spreading in his middle. He felt the woman's eyes on him and lifted his gaze to meet hers.

"Will you behave if I open the cuffs?" she asked, voice low and reasonable, as if discussing the weather.

"Ye-yeah," Vegard stammered. He coughed a couple of times and cleared his throat.

"I need you to do better than that," she said. "I need you to swear on your brother's life."

"Leave him out of this!" Vegard hissed, finding strength in his voice.

"That's how it'll be? You do realise that your defiance will cost him dearly, right?"

"What? You're bluffing. You don't have him," Vegard said. He kept his eyes on the woman's, unwavering, studying her face for any hints of deception he could identify. She remained impassive, too unfamiliar to Vegard to read anything from her expression.

"Can you really afford to take that chance?"

"He called me," Vegard reminded her. She smiled knowingly.

"And what do you think I promised to do to you if he didn't?"

"You're lying. You don't have him. You can't have him," Vegard's voice faltered as he realised he couldn't gamble with something so precious. His own continued well-being could be sacrificed for the right cause, but he couldn't risk his little brother. If there was even the smallest possibility that the woman was telling the truth, he had no choice but to back down.

"I swear I'll behave," Vegard said after a short pause. Defeat made his shoulders sag visibly and the last spark of warmth in him died.

"I knew you'd see reason," the woman said with an infuriatingly condescending smile on her narrow face. Vegard wanted to punch her, but kept his arms lax as she leaned in close and pulled a tiny key out of her cardigan's pocket. She turned it in the handcuff lock and stepped back. A sickly sweet scent lingered after her: a floral perfume that was neither pungent nor pleasant.

Vegard didn't feel the metal falling off from around his wrist. His right hand was numb, like a dead weight at the end of his arm, and it flopped to the floor when the band holding it up was gone. He collected the hand to his lap and covered it with the left one, wincing at how cold the skin felt to his touch. He sat still and focused on the woman, waiting to see what she would demand of him next.

“Get up, we're going back to your room,” she said. Her voice held no emotion in it, only the order, spoken with cool authority.

Vegard needed two tries to lift himself off the floor. The dizziness had settled down a bit, but standing up made the room do high-speed twists and turns around his head once again. His legs were stiff from the long inactivity in the low temperature, making him lack what little coordination he usually had.

The woman observed him and Vegard felt like snapping at her to stop staring and either go away or help him. He didn't dare say a single word, fearing the consequences any confrontation could bring his brother. If she really had him. Vegard wasn't fully convinced, but his mind was too fuzzy to offer him the luxury of certainty. He cursed mentally and leaned against the bathroom stall wall, keeping himself upright with the help of willpower and plywood.

“You go first,” the woman said and indicated the open door. She was unarmed as far as Vegard could tell, no strange shapes making her pink cardigan bulge in the most obvious places, but he was cognisant enough to understand that any attempt he made in the state he was in would fail spectacularly.

Reluctantly, Vegard complied, staggering across the small room like a drunkard. He missed the exit on his first try and walked into the wall instead. He thought the woman might laugh or snap at him, but she stayed still and silent, merely observing. He slid himself along the wall with his hands, the left one doing the brunt of the labour while the right one was still uncooperative. An impassive “left” from behind directed him when he made it out through the doorway and stood hesitating in the dark corridor.

Room 22 wasn't far from the bathroom, but Vegard needed several minutes to cross that short distance. He fell once and stayed down flat on the floor until the woman told him to get up. She probably suspected an attempt at foul play, but Vegard genuinely couldn't shake off the vertigo that knocked him off his feet and made his steps unsteady. He longed to curl up in a warm place and remain still, to know nothing for a while. The cold infiltrated deep into him, slowing his movements and dulling his reactions to a point where he couldn't compensate for the dizziness.

After Vegard got on his feet again, he managed to walk to the other side of the hall and reach the open door. The bed with the blue blanket and white sheet was a welcome and inviting sight, standing with the covers pulled down, ready to be crawled in. Vegard all but collapsed on it, breathing hard. He was shivering and the water in his stomach felt uncomfortably heavy, not doing any favours for his vague nausea. After lying on the hard tiled floor, the thin, worn mattress under him felt as soft as feathers.

Vegard remained still, hoping for his body to settle down and warm up. He assumed he was suffering from the residual effects of whatever the woman had inserted into his veins. He heard her step into the room and set something down on the chest of drawers next to the bed with a familiar metallic clink. Probably the handcuffs, Vegard reasoned and made a mental note to avoid getting fastened in them again at all costs. His right hand throbbed with pain, almost as in response to his thoughts.

After some of his strength returned, Vegard rolled over and asked for more water, the thirst burning his throat again. The woman turned to him, abandoning whatever she was doing near the drawers.

“Not yet. Put the restraints around your ankles first,” she commanded.

Vegard considered trying to overpower her. Any attempt in the bathroom or in the hallway would've ended with him flat on his face, but in the room he could stand a chance, taking support from the furniture. He couldn't see any loose items that would function as improvised weapons, but the small size of the room could be an advantage to him. Anything to reduce the significance of her superior speed and mobility.

The woman seemed to read Vegard's intentions clear on his face. She pointed at the foot of the bed, silently instructing him. Vegard hesitated. His insubordination might have dire consequences for his brother if the woman was telling the truth, but if he allowed himself to be tied down, he'd be fully at her mercy, possibly dooming them both.

“Do you really think you could take me out quickly and permanently enough to find your brother and escape? You don't know where you are and all the doors are locked.”

Brown eyes pierced her. Vegard had the advantage of mass over her, but she was tall and seemed fit. She was also unhindered by unknown narcotics in her bloodstream and was in full control of all her limbs. He waited for too long and she seemed to lose her patience.

“Obey me now!” she screeched.

All thoughts quieted in Vegard's mind and he sprung into action. He coiled his legs under him, aiding the movement with his hands, and pushed himself off the bed, straight at her. He managed to grab her shoulders and knock her down on the floor, falling heavily on her. The shock left her immobile for only one moment, but it was enough for Vegard to sit on her hips and press her upper arms down, leaning his weight on his hands to secure her. She cursed and struggled under him. Spirited kicks from her bony knees connected against Vegard's back and rocked him, but he remained in the position.

“Where is he? Where's my brother?!” Vegard shouted at her.

“Fuck you!” She yelled in reply, all composure lost. She reached to the side with her head and bit Vegard's left wrist, drawing blood. He yelped in pain and lightened his grip instinctively just enough to allow her to roll to the side and turn her hips, knocking him off balance and slipping out from under him. Vegard ignored his bleeding hand and tried to catch her again, but she made it to her feet faster than him. She turned around instantaneously and kicked him in the side with the momentum, packing enough force in her foot to send him to the floor, gasping for breath.

Vegard was still trying to sort out which way was up when he felt her sit on his back, slamming his face against the coarse carpet. His arms were pulled up behind his back and she leaned on them with her full weight, trapping him effectively and painfully. Vegard tried to roll over to shake her loose, but she had enough mass to keep him secured in the awkward position.

Rapid panting filled the room. Vegard tried to get his knees under him, but the woman held him still. Her strong hands were squeezing his wrists and pulling his arms up along his back, making his shoulders feel like they would dislocate if she applied any additional pressure on them. Warm moisture was trickling on his back from the bleeding bite wound.

“Why did you have to do this?” the woman asked, sounding close to tears. “You're ruining everything!”

“Where's my brother?” Vegard asked. He didn't understand what the woman was talking about, but he could ignore the insane ravings and focus on the one important thing he had to find out, no matter the cost.

“Where are we?” Vegard asked, still trying to buck his hips enough to dislodge her. She pulled his arms higher. Vegard groaned in pain.

“You crazy bitch, let me go!” he howled. She replied by jerking his arms up brutally and without warning. The agony in his shoulders overwhelmed Vegard so much that he didn't feel when she let go of his wrists. He got up as fast as he could when he felt her weight leave his back, only to be met with a sturdy wooden drawer from the chest next to the bed against his temple.

The woman grunted and tossed the empty box aside. Vegard was reeling from the blow, his already compromised balance shattered. He fell on his back and continued falling, unable to tell that his physical movement had ceased already and it was only his head that kept denying the stillness. He saw the white ceiling and heard the woman move in the room, but he was momentarily incapable of lifting himself off the floor. Soon the familiar sting of a needle embedded itself in the front of his thigh. He could only moan faintly as the edges of the world became hazy and then disappeared entirely.

*****

Bård was walking between two snow-covered fields. He had been told there was a path somewhere below his feet, but he wasn't sure if he was hitting it. No footprints broke the endless white he was trudging along, only patterns created by the merciless wind. He saw the lights of a medium-sized retirement home some distance in front of him, guiding him towards it. Rounding a bend in the presumed path, he emerged from behind a copse of trees lining the fields. He had no eye for the beauty of the scenery around him, only his mission on his mind.

The police detective assigned on the case seemed convinced that Vegard had run away. He hadn't been direct in his accusations, but he heavily implied it over the phone, emphasising the timing and the family situation. It was clear to Bård that he wasn't taking the case as seriously as he should be, making assumptions without evidence and ignoring everything he said.

Feeling let down by the authorities, Bård had decided to do some investigating of his own. The police station wouldn't be open for the public for another day, and Bård refused to spend that time doing nothing. His first step was to visit the last place where his brother was seen: the retirement home. The path from the building to their parents' house wasn't long or full of dangers. The likeliest option was that Vegard had gone somewhere else after his performance; the challenge was to find out where. If Bård had any kind of luck on his side, his occasional chatterbox of a brother had mentioned his next destination to someone at the home.

Bård entered the building, stomped his feet to shake the snow loose from the soles of his boots and stepped up to the reception desk. A blonde woman in her early forties sat behind it, looking a little bit dishevelled with strands of hair hanging in front of her face and sporting a large wet area on her pink cardigan. Bård introduced himself by first name only and asked if she had been working there on Tuesday morning.

“Yes, it was a quiet sort of morning, some visitors coming in who wouldn't be able to stop by later in the week. You know how Christmas time is, the elderly get forgotten.”

“You had a performance here?”

“Oh yes, a lovely young man with the voice of an angel,” she replied but said no more. Bård wondered if she had recognised him. The smile on her face didn't falter as she waited for him to continue.

“That was my brother. Vegard Ylvisåker.” Bård read no surprise in her relaxed expression. “You know who we are?”

“Yes of course, _the Fox_ and all, I've seen you on the news.”

“Did my brother mention where he was going after the performance?” Bård asked, squeezing his fingers into fists. This could be the turning point, the one lead that would solve the situation.

“Why do you ask? Is something wrong?” the woman queried, scrunching her thin eyebrows in apparent concern.

Bård had pondered whether to tell the truth or not on his way to the home. He didn't want his brother's disappearance to reach the media, but he thought he might have a better chance of finding out what had happened if he was honest at every turn. To gain trust he had to show trust, as unintuitive as it felt.

“Now listen, uhh, sorry, I didn't catch your name?” Bård interrupted himself. He was surprised to see a flash of what he interpreted as irritation on the woman's features before she hid behind the smile again.

“Borghild,” she said. Bård nodded.

“Listen, Borghild, I'm going to be entirely honest with you, but I beg you to keep what you're about to hear to yourself. This information can't spread from here, do you understand?”

“I understand. I can see how a scandal might affect your status.”

“It's not that, not exactly. You see, my brother never made it home after the performance here. I'm trying to retrace his steps to find out where he went. Now I ask you again, did he mention where he was headed when he left here?”

Bård could only hope his desperation and need to know came through and reached something inside this woman. If there was even the smallest hint that she knew, he would have something to work with instead of the vast emptiness he now faced.

“I'm sorry, I really am, but he didn't say anything. Only that he would walk. And I didn't see him talk to anyone else but me,” Borghild said, grey eyes downcast. Bård released a sigh.

“Well thank you anyway,” he said, trying not to let his frustration manifest itself. The situation wasn't this woman's fault, it would be unfair to snap at her. Bård wished her happy holidays and turned to go. He was just about to push the door open when she shouted something after him.

“Sorry, what was that?” Bård asked and swung back to look at her, new hope cautiously stirring.

“Oh, it's probably nothing. I just found it a bit curious, that's all. When your brother left, he mentioned something about the path being clear now. It's a strange thing to say, isn't it? The snow hadn't even started falling then, all roads were very much uncluttered. Well, that's all I remember, have a happy new year now!”

Bård thanked her and opened the door. He was far from relieved or optimistic. The words tasted like poison on his lips. _The path is clear now._ His conversation with the police came to mind again. Was this a hint that their insinuations had a small seed of truth in them? Had Vegard really chosen to disappear? Bård kicked the nearest snowbank, sending small white clumps flying. That was not his brother. Vegard loved his family more than anything, he couldn't function without knowing they were safe. He would never just leave. He had been ecstatic over the birth of the new baby. Tired after all the sleepless nights with the endless crying, of course, but that was nothing worse than what he'd gone through with the older kids.

Snow was falling heavily. Bård's footprints from mere minutes earlier were already starting to lose their depth. Soon the path between the two fields would be pristine again with no signs of passage. Bård couldn't get the cryptic words out of his mind. Doubt was sinking in relentlessly. Had Vegard been fighting with his wife lately? Bård had caught his brother nearly nodding off at work a couple of times right before the Christmas break. Was he getting any rest at all at home? Had he reached the end of his endurance and chosen to walk away from all his responsibilities? How well could one know another person after all?

The disturbing thoughts in Bård's head were banished in an instant when he suddenly fell flat on his face into the fresh snow. His shins knocked painfully against something hidden under the blanket of white. Bård cursed thoroughly and manoeuvred himself to sit up without grinding his legs against the unknown object. He figured he had veered off the path and hit a rock by the side of the field. He brushed the snow off, wetting his dark green woollen mittens, and gasped in surprise.

Bård sat in the middle of a field outside the town and stared at a guitar case he would recognise anywhere: his own. The black canvas bag bore the signs of use he himself had inflicted on it. That dent in the corner, that faded patch at the front, that burn near the strap, they were all stories he could tell. With shaking fingers, he opened the zipper and came face to face with one of his favourite guitars, the golden acoustic one he had bought to match the electric one he got for their summer tour.

For long moments, Bård's mind drew a complete blank. He couldn't understand how his guitar had ended up in the unlikely place. Once the shock faded, he reached the only plausible explanation: Vegard had borrowed it for his performance at the retirement home. Bård didn't understand what had possessed his brother to do so, and entirely without permission, but the evidence was unmistakeable.

Snow had soaked through the canvas bag and seeped into the thin wood of the instrument. Bård felt fury consume him at witnessing the delicate tool of their trade being mishandled so cruelly. The anger faded in an instant when a terrifying realisation replaced it. Vegard would never take something that didn't belong to him and jeopardise it like that.

The last shred of doubt left Bård's mind. Wherever his brother had gone, he hadn't gone there willingly.


	6. Chapter 6

“No, you don't understand! This absolutely, without any doubt proves that he didn't just run away. He was taken,” Bård pointed at the battered black guitar case sitting on the chair next to him. Two police officers were looking at him, waiting for him to calm down. Bård wasn't typically one to raise his voice, but under the impassive stares, he found himself increasing his volume in an effort to provoke a reaction out of the bald middle-aged man and the brown-haired woman in her late twenties who looked at him without giving anything in return. The situation with his brother was urgent and serious, but Bård was having unusual difficulty in communicating it.

“We understand what you're saying, but unfortunately we cannot consider a discarded guitar as evidence for one way or the other. Even the location doesn't give us anything new to work with. I'm really sorry,” the female police officer said, aiming her hazel eyes to Bård's. The firm professionalism in her demeanour was tinged by sympathy that Bård resented. He didn't need someone to coddle him, he needed prompt actions.

“Just go to the retirement home and question everyone there. Someone must know something! It was the last place where he was seen,” Bård pleaded, his voice breaking on the final syllable.

“We are well aware of the sequence of the known events,” the senior detective said. He closed his unused writing pad and set his pencil down on the desk. “It's been less than a week. We suggest you wait for your brother to contact you. Your status as public fig–“

“Fuck our status! He didn't just walk away! I know my brother and I'm telling you, that's not him! So could you kindly pull your heads out of your asses and do something!”

“We understand –“

Bård interrupted the younger officer with a howl of frustration. On some level he realised he was being unreasonable and out of control, but he couldn't suppress the reactions bursting out of him. His brother's life was in danger and no one seemed to be taking it seriously.

“Sorry,” Bård said after a moment of reserved silence. “But please at least tell me you're doing something. The retirement home is the key, tell me you can see that, please!”

“We will do everything in our power to bring your brother home safely.” The woman's gaze was warmer than Bård could bear. He averted his eyes and looked at the worn wooden desk in front of him instead. Its surface was marred by years of misuse, showing deep grooves and shallow dents in the soft timber. Bård traced one long curve with his index finger, pressing hard enough to hurt. His mind was still simmering in anger but he was starting to reclaim his control over his reactions.

“You're not going to tell me more about the investigation, are you?” Bård asked. He recognised that he had hit a wall. The excitement of finding the guitar, of finding something tangible had given him a surge of hope. The realisation that his discovery changed nothing was demoralising him more extensively than he'd excepted. His brother's fate was as open as before, the only difference being that Bård now knew with certainty that something had happened to him. The revelation did nothing to alleviate his worry.

“We will keep you informed as required,” the senior officer said, signalling that their meeting was at an end. Bård had enough experience from failed job interviews to know that the man meant he would hear nothing at all until the news would be final: when his brother was either discovered or dead.

“Thank you,” Bård said and reached across the desk to shake hands. He resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his jeans after he broke the skin contact.

Bård got up and headed directly towards the exit. He had no desire to linger in the station any longer than was necessary, but he barely made it past three corners when he heard someone call his name and a pounding of rapid footsteps behind him. Bård stopped to wait and raised his eyebrows in surprise when the brown-haired officer from the meeting reached him.

“You forgot this,” she said and offered the guitar case to Bård. He reached for it with hesitant hands.

“Don't you need it for evidence? Study fibre samples or something?”

“It was outside for days,” was the woman's only explanation. Bård took the bag and hitched the strap high on his shoulder. The visit had been a waste of time: the authorities either didn't believe him or they didn't want to solve the case for whatever reason.

“Listen,” the woman started in a low voice, “we are looking into the retirement home, but it'll be a while before they return to normal after the holidays and before all staff will be back. So far we've found nothing suspicious, and the prevailing theory is that your brother wanted to disappear.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Bård asked. The police officer swiftly looked around and lowered her voice even further.

“Because I believe you. And I suspect you won't give up until you find your answer. So I'm asking you to keep me in the loop. Don't do anything stupid or hasty, call me first, okay?” She handed him a note with her contact information written on it. Bård took it with a spark of hope slowly starting to grow.

“Can I trust you?”

“I've already told you enough to earn me a written warning,” the woman replied, a wry smile on her freckled face. Her countenance held no deceit.

Bård looked at the card and smiled. “Okay, Emilie. Thank you.”

The wind was blowing hard when Bård stepped outside. Snow no longer floated down from the quickly dissipating clouds, but the plummeting temperature kept the day from being pleasant. Many were on holiday in the days between Christmas and the New Year, and most shops were filled with people chasing amazing sales. Bård left the town centre as fast as he could. He couldn't bear being around people living their normal lives. His would never be the same if he couldn't find his brother. Bård didn't even care about their career: he had never been irreversibly apart from Vegard before, and certainly not like this, with the mystery keeping the separation from being clean. They'd had occasional distances, some more significant than others, but in the end they always came back. He had to believe that this disappearance would also prove temporary. There would be no moving on if it wasn't.

Bård returned to his parents' house shortly before dinner time. He had no appetite but he sat down to the table anyway and shovelled the food in, barely tasting the creamy potatoes or the moist salmon. Either steadfast optimism or a fool's hope was telling him that his brother would need his strength before all this would be over. Bård had never been one to believe in omens, but this hunch he followed. And behaving as normally as possible helped him pretend that nothing was wrong. A civil dinner with his family was delightful in its mundaneness. He refused to look at the empty seat.

If the days were difficult, the nights proved impossible. Bård lost count of how many hours he spent looking out through the window, cursing the dark for hiding the answers from him. He continued chasing any hints and ideas he could conjure up during the days, but the nights denied all activities from him, leaving him alone with his thoughts and memories. He had returned to the retirement home a few times, but no one had anything new to tell him. After a brief show of temper that Bård now regretted, the manager had come to talk with him. As a result of the heated discussion, she had heavily suggested that Bård let go of his fixation with the institute and seek his leads elsewhere.

That was the first night when Bård cried. His pillow became subsequently saturated with frustrated tears after each new day of pointless searching. Bård didn't know what to do with himself without the calming presence of his brother by his side. As days became a week and then a month, Bård feared he would have to face his thirtyfourth year alone. The thought plunged him deep into darkness that made him stay in his old room for several days without any hope remaining. The only spark of light in his miserable existence was a hasty phone call from Emilie, explaining that they had traced the last known location of his brother's mobile to the retirement home. The trail was cold and feeble, but Bård was re-energised by it. Even if weeks had passed since he was last able to connect to his brother's phone, he resumed trying. He would grasp each fragile straw until Vegard was home.

*****

The familiar notes of a childhood lullaby floated across his hazy mind. He felt the expected embrace of comfort that always accompanied the song. His mother's arms around him, his own hands against the warm backs of his children. Touch was never far whenever the gentle sibilants entered his ears, bringing love and security with them. Falling sleep within the familiar cocoon crafted from sound was as enticing as it was effortless. But Vegard couldn't let go of consciousness yet. A frantic urge somewhere below the surface of his awareness was pushing him towards control. He needed to do something but he couldn't gather enough clarity to accomplish or even identify what it was.

Vegard's innate sense of direction told him he was horizontal. There was no connection to his limbs and he had no notion of temperature, but he could feel a soft pressure against his back that nailed him to reality. He heard Bård crying somewhere far away, but the voice was from years ago when he had been very young, higher and missing the roughness of age. Vegard told him that everything was alright, that he wouldn't let his brother suffer through what was happening to him. The vagueness bothered Vegard, but when he tried to focus on what the thing he needed to protect his brother from was, his grip started slipping and he floated away, the melody in his ears louder than ever. When the sound became unbearably loud, white enveloped everything.

*****

The liquid was cold. Vegard was drowning. Blue sparked to life in front of his eyes, flickering dizzyingly. The colour reminded him of something important that he should pay attention to, but a freezing wetness was filling his mouth and all conscious thought succumbed to the primal instinct of survival. He swallowed convulsively and gasped for air. There were droplets of sound peppering his mind, pounding against the fuzzy sanctuary of unawareness. He swam towards the voice through the viscous heaviness pushing him down, catching only meaningless fragments.

“Did you hear that?”

“I'm giving this to you.”

“... deserve it. From me...”

“Swallow.”

“...without me. Remember that.”

Vegard couldn't follow the too quickly moving syllables. All he understood was that the soothing, warm voice was not what he wanted to reach for, but he didn't know why. There was an urgency pressing him, something demanding him to move, to clear the thick mist from his mind and fulfil the compulsion, but he couldn't focus enough to figure out what it was. His relief at sinking back into darkness was tainted with sourceless guilt.

*****

Breathing hurt. He tried to swallow but the dry rawness in his throat interrupted the attempt and he coughed instead. He felt each sharp exhalation in his chest as a stab that made him want to lift his hand to press against the hurt, but the limb wouldn't rise. He accepted this as the normal state of being and ceased his efforts.

The pain in his throat didn't lessen but he grew acclimated enough to it to ignore it. He could ignore everything else too and follow a melody that beckoned him to dive deeper. For some reason Bård was running in front of him, looking exactly as he should except he was missing a mouth. Vegard knew he should worry about that, but the response in him was feeble. Wherever his brother was leading him, he would follow, heedless of the sound of coughing and gasping that he was leaving behind.

*****

Light was torture on his closed eyes. A strong slap against his cheek made his head rotate towards the window. After looking at the soft glow through the thick fabric of the curtains for several frantic heartbeats, Vegard realised his eyes were open.

“... hear me?”

His throat was throbbing. Somehow the pain in his eyes made the ache above his larynx more pronounced. He allowed his eyelids to droop. There was nothing he wanted to see.

“... one time only. Do you acknowledge that I'm...”

Vegard belatedly realised that the presence of the voice he heard signified that there must also be a source for the voice. In his confusion and amidst his many discomforts, only one need rose above the others strongly enough that he tried to convey it to whoever was in the room with him.

“Wa– “ he croaked, barely producing an audible sound.

The voice near him went silent. Vegard licked a droplet of blood from his lips and made another attempt at swallowing. The lack of success was a repeat from earlier and it took him a long time to stop coughing.

“Water,” he mouthed. The expectation of the cool liquid soon hitting his tongue made his stomach clench in anticipation.

“No,” the kind voice responded.

“Please,” Vegard said, eyes watering from the pain of speaking. He sucked on his lip again and forced the coppery flavour down. He couldn't comprehend why he was being denied.

“I decide when you need water. I'm taking care of you.”

Vegard heard the lie beneath the words. He blinked his eyes open and squinted in the dim light. When he could focus, he saw a face he recognised. Reality hit him like a wave at the sight, his memories crashing in all at once. This woman was mentally unstable. She was keeping him captive and drugged. And she had Bård.

The last thought made cold dread spike through him. How much time had passed since he was last lucid? What had she done to his brother while he was laying senselessly in his own world? Was Bård even alive anymore?

Vegard snapped to attention when the woman stood up. She had been sitting on a wooden stool by the bedside. He didn't remember the sturdy four-legged piece of furniture. As she crossed to the window, Vegard tried to visualise the room from the first time he had seen it to make sure nothing else had changed without his awareness. Vague uncertainty was the only result of his mental exercise.

“Happy New Year,” the woman said as she pulled the heavy curtains aside and let the bleak daylight in. The overcast sky was too bright for Vegard's sensitive eyes and he blinked rapidly, resisting the impulse to turn his head away. When the wetness distorting his vision subsided, he looked at the scene outside the window, trying to see something that would give him a hint of his whereabouts. Nothing but grey clouds and the snowy tips of pines met his gaze.

“Where's my brother?” Vegard forced out, losing his voice entirely at the last two syllables. The woman seemed to consider the question for a moment. She tilted her head to the side and followed Vegard's line of sight. Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy her.

“Not today,” was all she gave in reply. Vegard wanted to protest but the scratchy pain in his throat made him hold his silence. Instead he turned his eyes downwards to see if he was still on a bed and still bound. His right hand was hidden from view under a blue blanket and wouldn't move when he tried to tug it out. His left hand rested on top of the blanket by his side, secured by a wide restraint at the wrist. A square patch of gauze was taped to the back of his hand with a small reddish brown spot in the middle. Vegard's vision flickered at the edges.

“What did you do to me?” he croaked out, vocalising the words in short squeaks and hoarse whispers. “Where's my brother?”

“You're alright,” the woman said. She walked infuriatingly slowly to the door and opened it, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. Had Vegard been able to reach her, he would've punched her in the face.

“And Bård?” Vegard asked, trying in vain to raise his voice. The woman stepped out and vanished from his sight without acknowledging the question.

Writhing in frustration, Vegard yanked his arms hard against the brown restraints around both wrists, managing only to aggravate the chafed skin under each strap. The thought of his younger brother being in a similar situation made Vegard tingle with a renewed sense of urgency. Bård hated tight spaces, this confinement would be torturous to him. Vegard had to get free and help him. He had to give his brother hope, even if there was none.

“Bård!” Vegard bellowed as loud as his throat allowed. Not even an echo replied to him. “Bård! I'm here! I'm coming to you, just wait!”

The lack of a response did not discourage Vegard. He kept fighting the restraints and screaming for his brother. He didn't notice the skin around his wrists starting to bleed and he ignored the daggers tearing at his throat. He had made a living with his voice, now he was determined to maintain a life with it if he could.

“Don't give up, Bård! I will get there!”

The bang of the door against the wall snapped Vegard into silence. The woman stood at the threshold, breathing heavily. Anger radiated off her, lowering the temperature in the room even further. Vegard swallowed and faced her, unblinking and trembling.

“You keep your mouth shut,” the woman said and crossed the room in three furious strides. Vegard saw her open palm coming, but considered it wiser to not try to dodge it. The hand connected with his cheek and pain flashed through his head. Attempting to hide his reaction proved futile.

“Why must you be like this?” the woman asked. Vegard remained silent. Another punch slammed against the soft, unprotected flesh of his stomach. Vegard instinctively tried to curl up but the restraints around his ankles kept him in place. Before he had a chance to recover, another strike against his ribs knocked the wind out of him. Gasping for breath, Vegard was unprepared to receive the swiftly descending hand very low on his abdomen.

“S-stop!” Vegard stuttered out. The woman relented, but not because of his words. Her attention was drawn to the spot where she had struck him last. She pulled the duvet down, her eyes never leaving Vegard's groin. Her fingers were warm through the thin material of the green pyjamas Vegard noted he was wearing.

“What are you doing?” he asked, not caring that the woman had the power to hurt him for challenging her. His heart was thundering in his chest and his body ached where she had punched him. Her pink cardigan concealed a surprising amount of strength.

“You're so beautiful,” the woman said with odd gentleness in her voice which made chills run down Vegard's back. Her fingers found their way under Vegard's shirt and she petted the sparse hair on his stomach.

“Don't touch me,” Vegard whispered. The woman ignored him. Her fingers explored more of his skin, eventually slipping under the stretchy waistband of his trousers. Vegard held himself still, paralysed by the invasive touch. When her fingers found their target, he jerked as far back as the restraints allowed.

“Stop that you crazy bitch! Don't touch me!” Vegard howled. The initial shock had passed, leaving outrage and a deep fear for his brother in its wake. Had the insane woman touched Bård like this too? “Get your fucking hands off me!”

The woman pulled her hand away and looked at Vegard with a slack expression. Her jaw soon tightened and her mouth pulled into a thin line. No trace of gentleness remained in her countenance.

“You like this,” she said. Vegard shuddered, guessing what she was about to say next. “You never protested before.”

Nausea rose in Vegard as realisation set in. The woman had wished him a happy New Year. His last clear memories were of the time right before Christmas. That left several days unaccounted for, and Vegard's imagination was vivid enough to offer him graphic suggestions of the woman's possible actions during those days.

“Have you done this to Bård too?”

“I'm taking care of you,” was the woman's only answer. She stood by Vegard's bed with her right hand cradled in the left, as if savouring where it had been. Vegard turned to look at the window, afraid he would lose himself if he saw her twisted face for a second longer. He clung to the hope that she had only touched him and left his younger brother alone. He could ignore the violation and keep himself together in order to rescue Bård. Emotional reactions could be delayed. He would be strong enough to function.

“I can see you're having a bad day. You love it when I touch you, you always smile. We'll continue later.”

With that, she turned around and left the room. Vegard heard the door close and took in a shuddering breath. He exhaled it with a sob, hands squeezed into fists and toes curled up. Only a white sickle of the moon witnessed him fall apart.


	7. Chapter 7

Thirst was Vegard's tireless companion. The crazy woman gave him water from a bottle, but it was never enough. Vegard had first thought he might be able to mark the passage of time by her visits, but the sun and its various positions told him she didn't visit him regularly but at what seemed random intervals. Heavy bruising inside his elbow hinted that something had gone in through there, but there were no fresh looking punctures, only yellowish smudges marring his pale skin. A vague discomfort near his nether regions told him the exit of whatever liquids he was given had been taken care of as well.

None of Vegard's observations gave him comfort. He had no grasp of the passage of time. Subjectively he felt like he had been at the mercy of the woman for months, but in reality he guessed only a few days had passed. The estimate was probably overly optimistic, but Vegard had to believe in something. If his brother was facing similar treatment, the hope of him not having suffered for long was the only thing keeping Vegard going.

A hazy sunrise painted the clouds orange. A stab of pain from his never-fading headache made Vegard close his eyes. He wished Bård could at least see the sky too. Distant though it was, its impassivity was strangely soothing. So far away, completely untouchable. Nothing could alter the structure of the sky or make it feel. The rational part of Vegard's brain denied any shame at the treatment he had received. But the loud minority of raw emotional reaction overpowered it. His perception of being dirty wasn't limited only to the abstract sense either. The insane woman would know how long Vegard had been stewing in his own filth, but she seemed disinclined to do anything for his personal hygiene. A hot shower would've been heavenly, or a bath where he could lie up to his neck in warm water. His dreams were simple but they kept him clinging to sanity.

When the door opened an indecipherable while later, Vegard licked his cracked lips and turned to face the woman. She carried the familiar bottle with her and her cardigan's pocket was bulging with something cylindrical. Fear crawled all over Vegard. He hadn't forgotten her intrusive touch or the implication that it had happened before without his knowledge. She set the bottle down and returned to the illuminated hallway, shutting the door after her. Vegard focused on hearing her footsteps, but the ergonomic sandals she wore made no sound on the plastic floor. By stretching his neck, he could lift his head enough to see the light shining under the door. He kept his eyes on it in hopes of being ready to face her when it opened again.

The wait felt long to Vegard who shook with the strength of his rapid heartbeats. The light had disappeared moments earlier and instead of relaxing and thinking the imminent danger was over, he felt a greater sense of foreboding. The woman was not finished with him for the day, she had never just set the water bottle down and left, there had to be more to come. Vegard's grim expectations were met as the door opened again, this time with a much softer illumination flowing into the room. The woman held a tall candle in her hands and walked slowly towards the bed. Vegard's eyes needed a moment to adjust, but when they did, he realised the candle she held was encased in a white plastic cylinder, the kind people left on graves. The connotations were terrifying, but even worse was the shy, seductive smile on her lips. The woman wore a white lacy cardigan that came down to her knees. Underneath she had on a gaudy red bra and matching panties.

“Don't touch me,” Vegard said with as much assertiveness as he could generate. The woman smiled at him.

“Shh,” she intoned in a deep purr. Her bare feet revealed a pink coating on her toe nails. The edges weren't neat, as if she had painted them in a hurry. Vegard kept his eyes on them for as long as he could see them, clinging to something concrete in the scenario that was taking on nightmarish properties. The imperfection only served to make the situation too real, and Vegard was relieved when the edge of his bed cut his line of sight.

“I know you've missed me,” the woman whispered. Vegard decided to refrain from negating her mad illusions until he better understood what was going on. His and his brother's lives could be depending on his reactions and he didn't want to make any mistakes with something so important.

“But I'm here now. We can continue right from where we left off,” she promised and set the candle on the chest of drawers next to the bed. The opaque plastic allowed only a dim glow to escape, not strong enough to reach the corners of the room. The dance of the flame on the woman's face distorted her plain features into something demented. Vegard shifted his hips on the bed and wished for her to go away. She took a step closer.

Borghild peeled the blue duvet down and admired the form in front of her. He squirmed under her gentle touch. While Borghild would find the reaction delightful in certain circumstances, their romantic evening was not such an instance. He had never resisted her before when she would crawl up to the bed next to him after a trying day at work, cuddling firmly against his side. The lonely days after Christmas were always a difficult time for Borghild, but this year had been different. Vegard would lie passively for the most part, but sometimes she had lowered his dosage and brought him nearly to wakefulness, just enough to get him to react to her stimulation. And he had loved it. The half-voiced moans that would escape his lips were joyous to hear and they encouraged her to keep going. His hands were cold and lax on her skin, but the steady pressure was comforting. She would not allow him to ruin the beautiful bond they had created.

“Do you find me sexy?” she asked while lifting her chest to emphasise where she wanted him to focus. His eyes glittered with lust as he shook his head in amazement.

“I knew you would,” she laughed, “that's why I bought these silly garments, just for you.”

Borghild hoisted herself on the mattress and snuggled under his right arm. He twitched and tried to make room for her on the narrow bed, but the restraints limited his mobility. She appreciated his efforts and slipped her hand under his sweater to caress the coarse hair on his chest. He shuddered in pleasure.

“So eager,” Borghild said with a smile. She continued her motions on him and lifted her other hand to touch herself through the bra. The sensations mixed in a delightful swirl of excitement. Borghild grabbed his chest hair harder and pulled a little, eliciting a gasp.

“Stop that!” Vegard snapped. He had spoken before, but Borghild hadn't paid attention to it. The severity of his tone caught her and she retrieved her hand from under his shirt.

“You don't want it rough tonight? Did I hurt you?”

“I don't want you to touch me at all!” he shouted, much louder than she could accept.

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, suddenly nervous. The afternoon shift didn't usually include organised exercise on the yard, but sometimes the visiting family members took their relatives for a walk. She had discovered a set of footprints outside his window just two days ago. The height of the room kept anyone from seeing inside, but if he made noise, someone could catch it.

“I'll be gentle with you tonight. No need to make a fuss. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want you to get out! And some water to drink,” he added hastily and directed his eyes at the full bottle she had set down earlier. Droplets of condensation slid down the sides. Vegard swallowed with a visible cringe.

“Don't talk like that to me,” Borghild warned. She had shared many wonderful moments of intimacy with Vegard and he had never protested before. He loved her touch and he loved her. Where these words were coming from she didn't understand. “Don't take my tenderness for granted.”

“I don't want your disgusting hands anywhere near me! Let me go and leave me alone!” Vegard howled and jerked against the restraints hard enough to rattle the bed. Borghild climbed down and took a couple of steps back. He was ruining the mood and her patience was wearing thin. What had tainted his affection so suddenly?

“And give me some water for fuck's sake,” Vegard whined and cleared his throat. Borghild lost her hold on the tether of reason she clung to every day. There was nothing but hurt and betrayal. She had been burned like this before and the memories bled into the present. The pain was as vivid as it had been then, and she was as powerless as she had been made then. Her choices never mattered.

“If water's all you care about, then I'll give you your fucking water!” Borghild screeched and started opening the straps around Vegard's ankles. He was too surprised to react immediately. When he assembled enough coherence to try moving away from her, she yanked him down on the floor and grabbed his arm. Vegard scrambled to follow her swift pace, but he was too disoriented and weak to control his limbs effectively. She dragged him to a small private bathroom three doors from the room. Vegard's perception of the trip was a chaos of faded colours and dizzying turns. When she released her hold on him, he dropped to the floor and lay there listlessly, unable to recover fast enough to move.

Vegard heard running water somewhere far away. He pressed his palms flat against the cold tiles and tried to raise himself. His arms trembled with the effort but he managed to reach a sitting position. His vision was obstructed by greasy, stringy curls that fell in front of his eyes in a thick curtain, but he lacked the coordination to brush them aside while supporting himself. The glimpses he saw were of bare feet stepping restlessly on his right. Vegard lifted his knees and tried to focus his strength on his ankles to hoist himself upright. He didn't make it far before a force greater than his knocked him back on the floor.

“Here's the water you love so much” a feminine voice said with cold clarity. Vegard didn't have time to process the sentence before a cascade of freezing water hit his face. He tried to turn his head to keep the powerful stream from entering his nose, but a hand grabbed his hair and held him in place. The water kept flowing and Vegard sputtered with the effort of repelling it. When he thought he couldn't take anymore, that his body would force him to suck in a breath that would kill him, the water ran out. The hand behind his head disappeared and Vegard hit the floor with a thud. He rolled over and coughed, gasping for air.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vegard saw the woman filling a large white bucket from a tap that ran into a bathtub. He gathered his trembling limbs under him and rose to his knees. Still coughing, Vegard got to his feet. Colourful splotches of light blinked in front of his vision as he stood up. He managed one step before vertigo brought him back to the floor. Cursing his lack of strength, Vegard crawled towards the door, barely coherent but determined to find his brother and escape. Some corner of his mind must've known how futile his efforts were, but still he was shocked when a hand grabbed his hair and violently yanked him back. Vegard's back hit the floor with enough power to force an involuntary grunt out of him. He had no time to recover before water was filling his mouth and nose again and all he could think about was survival.

In his supine position on the floor, Vegard couldn't escape the next cascade of water on his face. He tried to turn his head, but two knees pressed against his cheeks and kept him still. The water came with painful, unending force. Vegard held his breath as long as he could, but when the liquid found its way into his airways, all his control dissipated and panic set in. He struggled with renewed energy and managed to fling himself upright. Each breath seemed to sear his throat and he alternated between coughing and gasping. Time and existence faded in meaning until something hard connected with his temple and he crumbled to the floor again.

Sounds wavered in and out as Vegard lied on the cold tiles and tried to push the grey fog out of his mind. He heard the flowing of water, harsh and loud as it filled a container. Vegard thought about the bucket but it was on its side a meter from his head. The sound continued varying in intensity. Shallow splattering became a deeper immersion, not unlike the roar of a small waterfall. Vegard flexed his limbs but they held no strength. The desperate need to escape didn't relent in his head. He tried rolling onto his side but the movement sparked an intense pain in his head and skewed his perception for a moment. All he could do was wait for the world to settle again.

Borghild turned off the tap and stood up with her hands on her lower back. The low temperature in the bathroom combined with her struggles with Vegard were making her muscles and joints ache. She resented the sign of proceeding age. Too many years working too hard had left her fragile. She needed to be treated with great care and delicacy. How Vegard didn't understand that was beyond her. With a final wince at the dull pain in her back, she reached down and dragged him to the bathtub by his arms. He made a feeble attempt at resisting her that accomplished nothing. Borghild knelt down to caress his wet cheek before hoisting him up with a firm grip under his arms. She struggled a bit with his weight, but successfully managed to get him into the tub. He hissed as he came to contact with the cold water but soon settled down. Her fingers entwined lovingly in his damp curls before pressing down hard on the back of his head.

Vegard jerked violently, but Borghild was prepared for it and maintained her hold on him. One hand kept his face under water while the other functioned as the focal point on his back for her entire weight, flattening his chest against the bottom of the tub. She felt his muscles work relentlessly but futilely. The longer he stayed under, the more he thrashed, and the weaker the movements became. When his arms no longer broke the surface of the water, she grabbed his hair and pulled his head up. It took Vegard a couple of heartbeats to realise he was no longer submerged. Borghild's stomach tingled pleasantly as she listened to his panicked gasps. Life was in that sound; he was greedily sucking in air and expelling it triumphantly. The thread connecting the body and the soul, present in so many legends, was nearly visible to Borghild in that glorious moment. All the power was in her hands. This man, trembling and crying, would live because she decided he would.

For now.

Borghild's hand was steady when it pressed the head down again. She had to fight him harder this time, but her tenacity won. Vegard fumbled weakly against her, slapping his hands uselessly against the unyielding sides of the tub. Borghild lifted her foot to press her knee on his bottom, leaving him no room to manoeuvre his legs. Time tipped the balance of power to Borghild again. Her strength only increased when his waned, until he was still and she only held him gently, not exerting any restriction on him. Dark locks floated around his head in the stagnant water, stirred by no voluntary movement. Borghild stared, transfixed by the moment where all borders between life and death were revealed to her.

“This is my choice,” she said. Hers had been many a struggle, but here she held power. This was the apex of her vindication. Nothing stood in her way.

Cold no longer bothered Vegard. It was something outside of himself and all external things were starting to lose their significance. On the inside, Vegard clung to his centre. The world shrunk to the size of his lungs, and impressive though they were, they had reached their limit. He had no light, no space and no tangibility. But one sense remained, stronger than the wild panic in his chest: sound. The haunting melody of his childhood's lullaby reverberated inside his skull, tearing down all barriers between his control and the great dark beyond. With the soothing sibilants caressing his consciousness, it was easy to let go. He followed the clear voice and abandoned the spasming body weighing him down. This was his escape and freedom. The strange sadness that muted his experience was not important.

“No! Don't you dare! This is my choice, not yours!” Borghild howled as he slapped the round cheek under her. She had made a mistake. Her enjoyment of the moment had exceeded her observation of it and the scales had tipped too far. Vegard had stopped struggling and she had waited too long before pulling him up. The tantalising pants for renewed life had yet to come.

“Selfish bastard!” Borghild shrieked. She rolled the limp body over and shook him roughly. Vegard gave a couple of sputtering coughs and started gasping for air. But the music was ruined for Borghild. The power had shifted away from her hands and into the fickle fists of fate. Her intoxicating rush was gone and only bitterness remained.

“Why must you ruin everything we have?” she asked the disoriented man beneath her. Vegard was looking around as if he was seeing the room for the first time. Brown eyes swept from door to ceiling, coming to rest on Borghild's angry face.

“You fucked up,” she told him. Vegard only blinked in reply. His cheeks were gaudy spots of red standing out against his otherwise pale skin and the off-white tiles under his head. Borghild scoffed in disgust and turned to pull the plug from the tub. She watched the water disappear down the drain, swirling a few strands of dark hair with it. Her hand rose to touch her own hair. The texture was silkier than his and the colour significantly lighter. Why did it feel so much better to touch his hair than hers?

“Where... where are we?” Vegard asked. His voice sounded like the pathetic mewling of a crippled kitten. Borghild had no patience for such weakness.

“Shut up,” she snapped. Her thoughts turned to the locked cabinet in the abandoned supply room just two doors from the bathroom. She could turn the floor crimson with one precise slice of her scalpel. Or she could watch him writhe in agony for hours with the right cocktail. Hear him scream for mercy that would never come.

“I'm sorry,” Vegard said. His eyes were leaking all over his cheeks and he sniffed deeply. Borghild was about to get up and decide the tool on her way, but then a wet strand of dark hair fell on his forehead and she paused. If she were to reach forwards and brush that lock behind his ear, she would feel the warmth of his skin. If she were to touch his cheek, she would feel the coarse texture of his stubble. His lips were dry and cracked, but the moist heat they hid within would be worth the unpleasant roughness.

“Are you really?”

“Yes,” he said and looked her in the eyes. She detected no deception behind his tears. They could still rebuild their paradise.

“I forgive you,” she said and leaned closer to him. Obediently he showed her his affection by permitting her in his mouth. He was trembling and she tasted salt, but the kiss was sweeter than any they had shared before. She wasn't ready to let him go yet.

“I forgive you,” she repeated.


	8. Chapter 8

Bård sometimes experienced stabs of guilt for neglecting all his responsibilities. Calle would contact him regularly and fill him in on what was happening in the real world, but Bård couldn't find a meaningful connection to matters related to his livelihood. What did it matter that contracts would have to be re-negotiated if he was the solitary participant in their duo? If Vegard didn't return home, there would be no future for Bård either. The futility of it all tore at his nerves and he became increasingly impatient with his friend's attempts at keeping him informed, pushing Calle away with vehemence that scared them both. The messages became fewer, and if Bård felt a longing for friendship, he hid it from himself as well.

All of Bård's energy was extended to finding clues about his brother's disappearance. He printed a giant aerial photo of the area and tried to determine possible paths and calculate distances from the nexus of the retirement home. Despite having nothing concrete to go on, he knew the tangle of events would unravel if he only found the right thread at that central location. The guitar case sat in the corner of his room, as if taunting his every effort of linking it to a plausible lead.

Emilie gave what nuggets of information she could, but she had very little to offer. Bård's frustration with the authorities didn't include her, and he obediently shared all his new ideas with the young woman. None of their conversations had led to any actions, but there was hope and comfort in sharing the burden with someone. Bård shied away from his own family, not knowing how to seek solace from those who were equally affected by the events as he was. Instead, physical exertion became one of his escapes, and he took to running in the forests near the retirement home. He had been asked to stay away from the property, but he saw no harm in visiting the wooded surrounding it. On one of such runs, he encountered what became his salvation from the mire of despair he had been wallowing through for weeks.

December had given way to January and the gradual passing of winter brought increasing amounts of daylight with it. Bård ran during the day when he could see where to set his feet. The air was crisp and the frozen snow crunched beneath his trainers. Birdsong would occasionally accompany him on his excursions, but he found no appreciation for the sounds of the approaching spring. He hopped over a fallen tree and dashed around a large boulder. Every time he came to the forest, he altered his course a little bit, for the sake of variety and for the vague hope of finding something. He had a bottle of water attached to his belt which also held his phone and keys. A gentle sloshing sound accompanied his heavy footfalls. His jacket would've had plenty of pockets to hold the things he needed on his runs, but the gadget belt was reminiscent of Vegard so he donned it every time he left the house. As lame as it sounded to his own ears, he liked having that small piece of his brother with him.

With lungs burning from the effort, Bård slowed his run into a walk and reached for his bottle. He took a long gulp of water and breathed deep for a while. The sun was a pale glow barely above the hazy horizon, its beams casting thin shadows on the ground. Bård allowed his gaze to roam aimlessly on the pristine snow covering the forest floor. His footprints were behind him and the monotony of white was only broken by occasional animal tracks or piles of snow that had fallen from the trees. The sight offered nothing of interest to Bård, but when he was about to speed up again and head back towards the main road, his eyes caught an irregularity. Curious, Bård jogged closer to examine.

The snow had nearly covered it, but the solitary corner of a black garbage bag was rustling in the mellow wind. Brushing the shiny surface with his mitten, Bård scrunched his eyebrows with trepidation. The location was remote enough to be visited regularly only by wildlife. The contents of the bag would probably be nothing good, but Bård was too invested to walk away. As he untied the knot at the mouth of the sack, he hoped he would only encounter waste that someone had been too lazy to dispose of appropriately. Peeking in, he saw textile and felt some larger shapes beneath it. Bård upended the bag and watched in stunned recognition as the contents spilled on the ground. The fabric turned out to be the material of a winter jacket and the large shapes sturdy boots. Both were generic enough to be insignificant, but Bård knew exactly who they belonged to. The final nail in the coffin was when a smashed phone with a familiar custom cover came out of the sack last.

For a long while, Bård hunkered in the snow and stared at his brother's personal items. His mind kept running in loops, repeating the confirmation that the disappearance and the retirement home were firmly connected. With shaking hands, Bård dug out his phone and called Emilie. She didn't answer, and Bård chose not to leave a message, afraid he would spill his discovery as an incoherent burst. Instead, he gathered Vegard's things back in the bag and hoisted it on his shoulder. He wouldn't go to the police station with his findings this time. The humiliation from his earlier visit was still too fresh in his mind. His brother needed someone to take this evidence seriously and act swiftly. Increasing his pace, Bård jogged towards the road, constantly keeping in mind where he was. As he approached familiar territory, he realised that the spot of his discovery was within walking distance of the retirement home. As soon as he succeeded in contacting Emilie, he would pay the institute one more visit, this time knowing for certain he was on the right track.

*****

Vegard was shaking. The irregular jerks pulled him into full consciousness and he blinked slowly while looking around. His eyes couldn't quite focus on the ceiling, but he recognised the place effortlessly anyway. Back in the room. His chest hurt and he had no idea how he'd gotten there. Hazy memories of suffocating in water assailed him and he shuddered even more violently. Had he nearly drowned? He desired to pull his hands up and pat himself down to make sure everything was as it should be, as futile as such an endeavour would be, but his wrists were bound again. Defeated, Vegard tried to relax against the pillow.

The lights were off in the room, but enough daylight streamed through the curtains to allow Vegard to check the corners to make sure he was alone. He was painfully thirsty, but the physical discomfort came with fear now. His earnest plea for the life-giving liquid had resulted in that life nearly being taken from him. Vegard closed his eyes and tried to will his body to lie still. His shoulders and thighs kept spasming unpleasantly under the blanket, creating a rustling sound. He wasn't even sure whether he was cold or not.

“Good morning!” the woman said cheerily at the door. Vegard flinched in surprise. He hadn't heard her approach. Hastily he considered feigning sleep, but his body's reaction had already given him away. With apprehension he turned towards the sound and tried to appear as unchallenging as possible.

“You get a smoothie today,” the woman declared. Vegard noticed that she had a small pink thermos in her hands. He was immediately on alert at the prospect of her feeding him. His stomach had no desire for anything and his mind agreed. Best to just be forgotten and allowed to wither away. No more unwanted lips on his, or painful punishments on his skin.

“You were so sweet last night,” she cooed as she sat down on the side of the bed, close enough to Vegard's hand that he could've caressed her thigh had he felt the urge to do so. “I don't know why you insist on these tantrums when you can be a perfect gentleman.”

Vegard kept his mouth shut, even when she approached it with the gaudy container. She started tilting the thermos, not registering his silent rebellion. Thick cold liquid flowed down along the corners of Vegard's mouth before she noticed and stopped pouring. Vegard tensed and waited for her reaction, already regretting his foolish decision to not obey the insane and violent woman.

“What are you doing?” she asked, almost gently.

“Not thirsty,” Vegard whispered. His throat was hurting again but the lie flowed smoothly from his lips.

“Why do you think that matters?” she asked and laughed. Her tone was not malicious, instead, Vegard heard genuine confusion that scared him. She was so far removed from what he considered normal reactions and behaviour that he couldn't understand how he had ever been fooled by her imitation of sanity.

“Now drink,” she commanded, and Vegard obeyed. Thick liquid filled his mouth and he swallowed, grimacing at the pungent taste. He identified cucumber and something sharp that might have been lemon. Fear and common sense kept him from giving any feedback on the flavour.

After the woman had emptied the thermos into Vegard, he felt an uncomfortable heaviness in his previously empty stomach. The small amount of liquid sat like a large brick and brought him as much enjoyment. Vegard idly wondered if the woman had fed him before, without his awareness. He didn't want to think about the other end of the digestive process, as being handcuffed in the bathroom an unknown time earlier was still fresh in his memory. Vegard had no idea how long his nightmare had lasted, but he was ready for it to be over now.

“What do you say?” the woman suddenly asked, taking Vegard by surprise. He had no words to offer in response, to the woman's evident frustration. As the silence stretched, Vegard realised he had made a mistake by not paying attention.

“Do I have to remind you again that you're alive only because I'm taking care of you?” Her cheeks were flushed pink, matching the gaudy cardigan she wore. “A little gratitude wouldn't hurt.”

Vegard was fully aware of what could and could not hurt in the woman's presence. He gave her as sincere a thanks as he could utter, knowing it wouldn't be enough. She pressed her lips together and wiped his mouth roughly on a tissue she pulled out of her pocket. Vegard remained still, not even cringing when she chafed his sensitive skin.

“I'm busy today after work,” she told him. This declaration was unprecedented and Vegard mentally scrambled to pay attention. He judged it to be early afternoon by the quality of the light in the room, so either she hadn't gone to work that day yet, or they were at her place of occupation, which seemed rather far-fetched. Vegard tried to concentrate on making sense of the small hint of information the woman had offered, but she was talking again, rattling off things she needed to buy.

“Why are you telling me this?” Vegard asked before his brain caught up with him. As he watched her eyes squint in annoyance, he realised what a colossal mistake he had made. He silently cursed his tendency to blurt things out as he waited for her reaction. The sound of rushing water rose to fill his ears.

“Lovers tend to share even the mundane things with each other. Are you saying you're not interested in what I'm doing?”

“No, of course I am! D-do tell more. How was work today?”

“You don't care,” she replied, but the conviction in her tone sounded false.

“I care. I lo- I love you, remember,” Vegard offered, playing into the fantasy she had revealed to him. He wasn't known for his acting skills, but judging by the softening of her expression, he reckoned he had managed to follow the illusion she had created convincingly enough.

“I love you too,” she said sweetly, with no hint of pretence. “But my break is almost over. They only notice me when I'm not there. Idiots.”

“That's stupid of them. You're amazing,” Vegard said. The lie fell off his lips easily. Following a script was familiar to him, and anticipating certain lines was something he had done most of his life. If he could lure her into revealing more about herself or about the place where they were, maybe he could use that knowledge to escape.

“No one knows me like you do,” the woman sighed. She stood up and turned towards the door.

“Wait!” Vegard cried, feeling a twinge of pain in his throat. “Could you turn the heat up a little bit? I'm really cold.” Vegard took a conscious gamble. Either she believed he was completely enamoured with her and would go out of her way to accommodate his needs, or he had just pushed his luck further than she could accept.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the woman said and leaned down to put her palm on Vegard's forehead. He made a valiant effort to not flinch as she started caressing him. “You know I can't do that.”

“I-I forgot,” Vegard replied. “Why can't you do that? For me?”

“I don't control this side.”

“But you –“

“Enough,” she snapped and Vegard swallowed the rest of his sentence. Her hand left his face, taking its warmth with it.

“I'll come back tomorrow.” With this promise, she exited the room. The dull thud of the shutting door sounded ominously definitive.

Vegard remained shivering on the bed, more confused than ever. He felt like he had gathered enough pieces of a puzzle to lock the corners in, but he lacked the insight to see the picture in the middle. If his head could stop hurting for one minute, if he could just concentrate past the pain in his throat, he might've been able to push himself into figuring something out. But he was cold and tired and scared, and closing his eyes proved to be the winning temptation. Wiping his nose on his shoulder, Vegard promised himself he would pull himself together after a short nap and at least try to improve his situation, by whatever means he had at his disposal. Despondent thoughts of failure sent him into a stillness that didn't lift for hours.

*****

Bård's heart was beating furiously fast. He recognised the absurdity of the thought, but still he worried that the harsh pounding would be audible in the silent darkness surrounding him. His legs were stiff from being still for a long time, but they limbered as he crept closer to the imposing building. For four hours, he had lain inside a sleeping bag designed for arctic conditions and under a thick layer of snow he had clumsily piled on himself, observing the daily activities of the retirement home. Not much happened outside the building, but as the lights came on, he could see movement through the windows. Personnel wearing varying shades of pale colours walked briskly by on whichever errand required them to relocate from one end of the building to the other. But no matter how much they moved, there were no signs of anyone's presence on the eastern wing of the institute. As the hours ticked by, not a single light came on in the long corridor visible to Bård.

Night had truly descended and most of the staff left for the day. The nocturnal crew were occupied with the few elderly who found no respite in sleep. Bård took that as his chance and slowly emerged from his fabric cocoon. The crisp air bit him hard, but his rising adrenaline subdued all shivers of coldness. On feet that felt heavy and large, Bård approached his target. No older footprints led to the door at the end of the eastern wing to mask the fresh ones Bård was making, but he had no time or means to wipe the signs of his passage away at present. He reached the door and rubbed his hands together to get the blood flowing. He would need all his dexterity in order to pick the lock that looked more intimidating the closer to it he got. His pick seemed woefully frail in the face of the industrial grade metal monster, but he would test his skill against it no matter what. If his intuition was correct, Vegard would be on the other side of the door, and Bård wouldn't be able to live with himself if he gave up without giving his everything to the task.

Emilie had never answered or returned Bård's calls. In the end, his impatience was greater than his common sense, and he only left a text message to explain what he had found and where he was going. A startled bird released a loud call that travelled through the forest just as Bård was stepping to the door, making him freeze and stop breathing for a moment, convinced that his presence had been detected. When nothing happened, Bård exhaled in a quickly dissipating cloud. His hands were shaking, but he managed to insert the tip of his pick on the first attempt. Although the lock was challenging, Bård had defeated its kind before and he knew he could do it this time too. His nervousness slowed him down, but as he got more engrossed in the task, his adrenaline receded and his heartbeat evened. When the final click pierced the air, Bård was calm and collected.

The serenity he had gained vanished as soon as the door swung open. Bård tried to step as quietly as he could, but his wet boots seemed determined to squeak and thud thunderously on the worn floor. After reaching the first intersection in the corridor, Bård stopped to listen. Not a single sound met his ears: not the hum of electricity or the low rumbling of ventilation. Gingerly, he walked on. He noticed that the numbered doors on each side of the corridor were firmly shut. He tried the handle on one and found it locked. Bård could've picked his way inside, but as he had no clue what was waiting beyond each door, he chose to leave them all alone. He dared not linger too long, and struggling with the locks would've taken him all night and created sounds he tried to avoid.

When Bård turned a corner, he saw what appeared to be a public restroom. Guided by curiosity towards anything that broke the monotony of the hallway, he peeked inside the only open door. Empty cubicles and a row of sinks met his eyes. Bård turned away and passed a couple of unmarked doors before reaching what black numbers declared were rooms 20 to 26, leading to the end of the corridor. He saw no movement and heard no sounds. Bård's fear was starting to subside and be replaced by disappointment. He had hoped to find his brother waiting for him, unharmed and apologetic for all the trouble he had caused. Instead, the building practically screamed with emptiness. Bård felt too disheartened to go further. Either he'd break into every single room, no matter how long it took, and scour the building from floor to ceiling, or he'd leave and return to where he started.

For reasons unknown to Bård, his mind conjured up a faint echo of a childhood lullaby. Maybe the abandoned wing of the retirement home reminded him of long-buried memories of visiting his great grandmother in an institute like the one he was trespassing. He couldn't have been older than three, four at most. He had no recollection of the person she had been, only of the husk she had become. When they reached daylight again after the visit, Bård had been crying and clinging to his brother, scared of something he wouldn't understand for many years to come. And Vegard, having witnessed their mother consoling his younger brother and having effortlessly picked up the undulating melody, had repeated the song with his clear voice, perfectly imitating the tune. Bård had never told his brother that he still remembered the song, not as their mother had sung it, but Vegard's rendition of it from so long ago.

And Bård knew he couldn't walk away. Not when he was following the only lead he had. The evidence pointed towards this location, and Bård had all night to search it thoroughly. Humming the tune, he returned to the front door, digging his lock picking kit from his pocket as he went. Door number one would be the first he'd crack open, to be followed by every single one in the hallway. Bård would stick his nose in every nook and cranny until he either found his brother or died of starvation.

Bård worked diligently for two hours. In that time, he managed to infiltrate fifteen private rooms and a large staff area. He took the time to properly search each room, making sure there weren't any hidden trapdoors or concealed entrances. His fingers were hurting from wielding the metal picks for such an extensive period, but he ignored the pain. Despite having no intuition as to whether he was on the right path or not, he kept going. The perfectionist in him wouldn't allow him to leave the task unfinished after getting so far, and the desperate brother he was would rather chop his own head off than give up. So Bård kept picking the flimsy locks open with fingers that started to bleed, squinting in the darkness at each new corner. Frequent glances at his watch assured him that time was rolling on as it always did, even if he felt like he was trapped in limbo. The night wore on and the temperature dropped, forcing Bård to take increasingly long pauses to stick his hands under his armpits to warm them up and keep them nimble.

Still humming to himself, Bård turned a corner and reached the final stretch of the corridor where doors marked with 20 and higher were standing. Even after conquering so many of them, the obstacles still looked imposing. Bård sighed and wiggled his fingers to loosen them up. Door number twenty opened with a frightening creak of the hinges, prompting Bård to dash inside with his heart pounding. He took great gulping breaths and tried to hear something over the blood rushing in his ears. Nothing moved. Adrenaline left Bård and he allowed his knees to buckle, sitting on the floor to lean his back against the wall.

The retirement home had been built on an unusually tall concrete foundation, lifting the rooms well above ground level. When Bård looked through the window, he saw the tops of pines that were swinging gently, and the vibrant moonlight filtered through them. Like the previous rooms he had been in, the one he was currently occupying also had a bed and a chest of drawers next to it. Bård didn't understand why the linens were still in the beds when the whole wing was so clearly abandoned, but they were starting to look terribly inviting. Rubbing his tired eyes, Bård hauled himself off the floor and leaned against the wall. The end of his mission was approaching and his hope waned. He had seen no signs of recent life, nothing to lead him to a new direction. He was hungry and thirsty too. Utterly disheartened, Bård laid down on the bed and hugged himself. No one would judge him for taking a small break.

Several hours later, the winter weakened tendrils of the rising sun penetrated through Bård's closed lids. He woke up with a start, needing a moment to remember where he was. Cursing himself for falling asleep in the worst possible situation, Bård calmed down to listen. The only difference to the previous night was the increased illumination. Slowly standing up, his stiff limbs protesting the movement, Bård looked around. It was snowing outside. Fat, heavy flakes plummeted towards the ground and smacked against the window. The slight rise in temperature didn't reach the inside of the unheated building. Bård pulled his jacket tighter around himself and sneaked towards the door. He still heard nothing, but he decided to stay alert and proceed with caution regardless.

The creaking of the door sounded less sinister in the dim daylight, but no less nerve-wracking. Bård paused to listen again after slipping back to the hallway. The empty corridor seemed to echo the sound unreasonably long. Bård crossed to the other side and dug out his lock-picking kit with fingers that slowly remembered how to function. After stretching and scratching his head under his dark blue woollen hat, Bård got to work. He was still hungry and thirsty, but with so few doors left, he was determined to finish his mission before admitting defeat. Door number 21 opened within three minutes and Bård slipped in.

Another empty room. Another disappointment in a long string of crushed hopes. Undaunted, Bård wiped his nose with the back of his hand and inserted his pick to the lock on door number 22. The gentle clinking of the metal tool nearly drowned out the first external sound Bård had heard since entering the building. As he paused to adjust his grip, he heard the distant thud of a closing door. Sudden panic slamming into him like a punch to the gut, Bård extracted his pick and moved as quietly as his boots allowed to the other side of the corridor. He had left each door unlocked in his wake, and he sought refuge from the nearest room. As he closed the door behind him, hoping the click wouldn't be too loud, he heard approaching footsteps. They were very faint: if the person walking had gone any slower, the soft padding wouldn't have been audible. Bård tried to stifle his frantic breathing and leaned against the wall behind the door, hoping to remain hidden if the person were to peek inside that particular room.


	9. Chapter 9

The cold comforted Borghild. When she stepped into the hallway and felt the frigid bite, she knew she would soon find warmth by his side. The passing discomfort was easy to endure with the promise of his love in her mind. She deserved his embrace, and more as a fair prize for her efforts. Once again she had kept up the façade of congeniality when all she wanted to do was serve justice to those who walked past her desk. How could they think they had permission to look self-righteous when they made the sacrifice of donating a fleeting moment of their precious time to those who should matter more.

Borghild knew hate. She was intimately familiar with bearing a grudge for deeds that could never be righted. The insignificant people who pattered around the home were not worth her time. A scornful sneer while they weren't looking was as much as she was willing to give them. Real anger took longer to form, and required effort. On some days, Borghild could barely bother clinging to her bitterness, no matter how well-earned it was. It would've been so easy to let go, but the act of forgiveness implied weakness. And Borghild was strong.

“Snow's coming down in buckets out there,” Borghild greeted the man on the bed. Vegard was slow to rouse. He blinked and licked his cracked lips, emitting small grunts he seemed unaware of making. Borghild stepped to his bedside and tenderly brushed a few stray curls off his forehead. “How was your night?”

“Could I, maybe, can I, drink?” Vegard asked haltingly, pausing to mimic swallowing after each word. His eyes were scrunched in pain and his breathing seemed too fast for someone who was lying down.

“I have a treat for you today,” Borghild said. She had a purple canvas bag on her shoulder with something large and bulky inside. Vegard displayed no enthusiasm at the prospect of receiving her special surprise.

“I said, I brought you something.”

Vegard looked at her with his bloodshot eyes, stubbornly silent. All he oozed was disinterest and obstinance. The cold sunk its tendrils deeper into Borghild's bones.

“You clearly missed me last night and now you're behaving badly as a protest. That's something I've seen toddlers do,” Borghild said. She was willing to forgive his rudeness, but only if the reasons were acceptable. “What do you say?”

“Could I please have some water?” Vegard asked. His voice was hoarse, but gaining strength. An edge of frost coated his words, pushing Borghild's warmth further away.

“Why are you angry?” she countered. “Did you really miss me this much?”

“I'm very thirsty, could I please have something to drink?”

Without uttering another word, Borghild took the bag off her shoulder and slammed it down on the bed while maintaining eye contact with Vegard. He refused to look away.

“This was supposed to be for our pleasure, but it can be a punishment just as well,” she said and reached inside the stiff material. Vegard's eyes widened when he saw the item coming out.

“No,” Vegard said slowly, willing his eyes to transform the emerging object into something else.

“I was going to prepare you properly, ease you into something I've found countless hours of joy with... but you've ruined it now. All I wanted was to feel your love, why must you be like this?”

The hurt in Borghild's voice sounded genuine to Vegard. He closed his eyes, still seeing the slender – but not slender enough – length of the item she cradled in her hands. The restraints around his wrists felt tighter than before.

“I'm sorry. I'm just thirsty, not angry. Can I touch you?” Vegard tried, speaking against the pain in his throat and the fear in his gut.

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Vegard?” Borghild asked. No trace of hurt or disappointment lingered on her worn face, only cold fury. “Do you think I'm a moron who can't hear the obvious lie? You're just like everyone else. I really thought you might be different, that you might genuinely feel something, but looks like I was wrong again. Story of my life!”

Vegard shrunk back on the bed as the woman's anger gained momentum. Her voice rose and darkened as she slid closer to him. With mere inches between their faces, brown eyes met grey and studied their smooth surface. He could read nothing. Her fury manifested in the timbre of her voice and the tautness of her muscles. The eyes remained blank, like on a steel statue.

“I wish I didn't have to do this. I wish I could've shared the pleasure with you. I never even considered it with anyone else, you were special. Or I thought you were,” Borghild said.

Despite his situation, Vegard felt a twinge of sympathy for the despondence in her words. His life was probably coming to an end soon, and his sorrow at the loss of everything that could've been resonated with the woman's disappointment. In that, they had finally reached the unity she longed for.

Borghild slid her fingers along stiff purple rubber. She had her favourite strawberry flavoured lubricant in the canvas bag, but her hands didn't reach for it. Her plans for the romantic encounter had been ruined and she would adapt accordingly. The man on the bed would get no preparation or gentle caresses, only the penetration at her pace. As she reached for his crotch, a surge of power ran through her. She could feel Vegard shaking beneath her, completely submissive and terrified. As the jeans came down, she heard him gasp.

“You chose this,” she kindly reminded him. “I'm taking care of you.”

Full realisation of what she intended to do seemed to sink in for Vegard as Borghild opened one of his ankle restraints. He tried to resist, but she grabbed his hip and rotated him as far as the bindings allowed. Vegard shuddered when she slid her fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear and tugged them down, exposing his behind.

“No!” he shouted. “Don't!”

The tip of the sex toy was cold as it pressed against Vegard's sensitive skin. He thrashed violently and tried to turn on his back, to get away from the intrusion. A strong hand prevented him from escaping.

“Stop!” Vegard screamed. His voice disintegrated into a sob that jerked his entire body. The pressure where he never wanted to feel such touch intensified and advanced relentlessly. “Stop it!”

“LET HIM GO!” a voice boomed from the door. Borghild snapped her head towards the sound, instinctively backing off from the man on the bed. Vegard was crying so hard he didn't hear the command, but when the touch on him lightened, he realised something was happening. He blinked his eyes open and rolled over, looking towards the door. What he saw made him lose track of everything else around him, except for the pair of familiar blue eyes.

*****

The first scream caught Bård by surprise. He had thought the footsteps he heard belonged to a janitor or a security guard doing rounds in the abandoned wing, and expected them to retreat soon. By the second scream, Bård recognised the voice, hoarse and muted through the walls though it was. His fingers were grasping the door handle before he realised he was moving, instinctively reacting to his brother's need. With great effort, Bård managed to stop himself. While Vegard's tortured shouts echoed off the walls, he forced himself to think. Rushing towards the sound with no plan of action would be foolish and most likely detrimental to his brother's health. Vegard was evidently terrified and possibly in pain, Bård couldn't afford to enter the situation blindly. As much as he feared the consequences of the delay, he had to take precautions.

With shaking hands, Bård took out his phone and pulled up Emilie's number. He could barely hear the tone over his harsh breathing. There was only silence from the other room while Bård waited for her to pick up. She did not, so Bård left a hasty voicemail explaining where he was and that he had found his brother. He ended the call, nearly dropped his phone when he tried to jam it back into his pocket, and finally grasped the metal handle.

The door to room number 22 was almost pulsating with the despair of Vegard's screams. Bård followed the agonised sounds and took deep breaths, trying to prepare himself for whatever waited on the other side of the painted wood. Vegard was pleading at someone to stop doing something to him, and Bård seconded the sentiment. Whatever was happening, his brother clearly didn't want it. As he slammed the door open, Bård took in the scene before him. Vegard was tied to a bed, his pants pulled down and his hips turned to face the opposite wall. By his exposed behind, a woman stood with an obscenely large purple masturbatory aid in her hands. The tear stains on Vegard's cheeks revealed that there was no pleasure in what was happening to him. Bård snapped with fury and shouted at the woman to let his brother go, startling her.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked. Bård recognised her as the receptionist he had spoken to on multiple occasions regarding his brother's disappearance. She had told him nothing but lies, and he had swallowed them all like the naïve fool he was.

“Let him go,” Bård repeated.

“Or else?” the woman countered, making a grand gesture of running her eyes up and down Bård's body.

“I – I have a gun!” Bård said, cursing himself for stuttering. Hopefully Emilie would get there with back-up before the situation escalated further. The hope was slim, but Bård had little else.

“Don't lie to me,” the woman said, apparently not convinced by Bård's feeble attempt. “You have nothing hidden under there.”

Bård instinctively patted his hands against his jacket. The woman saw the movement and raised her eyebrows, incredulous amusement warring with annoyance on her face. Before Bård could grasp at any other straws, she reached into her canvas bag that was resting on Vegard's bed, and pulled something dark and terrifying out of it.

“This is a gun. I'm sure you're familiar with its kind,” she said and lifted the weapon. Bård stared into the black hole at the end and swallowed. The metal was sleek and caught a dim glow from the fluorescent light in the ceiling. Despite the low temperature in the room, a drop of sweat trickled down the side of Bård's face.

“No!” Vegard shouted from the bed. A fresh batch of tears made his eyes glisten as they flicked from the woman to Bård. “You can't be here!”

“Are you okay?” Bård asked. The gun faded from his vision, leaving only his brother's frightened countenance to fill his view. He was thinner and very pale, but it was his brother. Bård wanted nothing more than to take the few steps that would bring him to Vegard's side, but the woman was stood in the way. He moved his foot anyway, unwilling and unable to stop himself.

“Run away! Don't let her get you too!” Vegard shouted, barely capable of forcing sounds from his throat.

“Silence! One more step and I'm shooting you both!” the woman screamed.

Bård froze. His eyes were locked with his brother's, drinking in the life he saw there, feeling all the hope he had missed during the dark weeks when they knew nothing of his fate. He barely heard the woman. Vegard was looking back at him, and his face was telling Bård everything he had endured. The raw pain coming through made Bård fume with fury. She had wounded his brother, badly, to the point where he saw no chance of escape. Bård couldn't tolerate it. He gave Vegard a smile, conveying all his love in that one long look, and turned around.

“Obey me now! I have the power!” the woman shrieked. Her voice rose higher as the threads in her hands unravelled. Bård looked her dead in the eye. With calm movements, he untied the restraint around Vegard's left wrist. He gave his arm a long caress, and took in a deep breath.

“You hurt my brother,” Bård said. The woman held the gun aimed at him with shaking hands. “I will never forgive you.”

“Bård, please,” Vegard whispered. Bård closed his eyes briefly, and gave his brother's wrist a final squeeze.

“You're okay,” Bård said, and lunged forwards. He heard his brother scream as he ran towards the woman. Before he hit her, Bård closed his eyes, ready to take the bullet.


	10. Chapter 10

There was no bang. Bård rammed into the woman and fell on the floor next to her, the impact jarring his bones, but no sharp sound of a shot pierced the air. As Bård pushed himself up on his arms, he realised he was unhurt. He turned his head to the side, coming face-to-face with the woman who was still clutching the gun, finger squeezing a trigger that didn't move. _Fake_ , Bård realised. The woman saw understanding dawn on him and moved fast. She slammed the plastic gun against Bård's jaw, jerking his head to the side. Before Bård could recover, his arms were swept from under him and he collapsed back on the floor, smashing his face against the hard surface.

“Bård!” Vegard shouted. His voice was distant and fragile. Bård couldn't stay on the ground, he had to get up and assuage the worry so evident in his brother's call, but the room was spinning from the force of the blow against his head. The woman had turned her back on Bård and was approaching Vegard who was trying to open the remaining restraint around his right wrist with fumbling fingers. As the woman got closer, Bård realised his brother wouldn't be able to free himself before she reached him.

“Get away, you bitch!” Bård shouted and somehow propelled himself forwards. He slammed his hands against he backs of her knees and she fell head-first towards the side of the bed, smashing her face against the metal frame with a resounding thud. Bård watched from the floor as she crumpled down and remained still for several of his frantic breaths.

“Bård?” Vegard asked. His position prevented him from seeing what was happening below the frame of the bed. The rising panic in his voice roused Bård from observing the woman.

“It's okay,” Bård said. He slowly rose to all fours and took a moment to steady himself. The woman still didn't move. Bård saw a small trickle of blood spread beneath her cheek, staining the floor and her hair. With a shudder, Bård stood up and leaned his hand against the bed.

The brothers looked at each other. The immediate shock of the situation was fading, and although they weren't safe yet, elation was starting to take the place of fear.

“Hi,” Bård said. “You're alive.”

“I am,” Vegard agreed. Looking at his hollowed cheeks and haunted eyes, Bård realised the margin between being alive and not making it wasn't wide, but the joy of seeing his brother again overrode everything else. He smiled and blinked hard against the stinging in his eyes.

“You really are,” Bård said, stepping closer. He fought the impending tears. He needed to be strong, to appear calm and in control. It was his turn to take care of his brother.

Vegard fumbled with the restraint around his wrist. He was having difficulty opening the leather straps with his shaking fingers, but Bård held back from helping him. He somehow felt that his brother needed to do this himself, even if it took a while. The woman was going nowhere, and Bård had all the time in the world now that he knew his brother was safe. Finally, Vegard got the restraint open and brought his hands up in front of his face, staring at them in awe.

“I'm free,” Vegard whispered. He lifted his gaze to Bård, tears openly shining in his eyes. They both moved towards each other simultaneously, Vegard as far as his seated position allowed, and Bård closing the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around Vegard made him real. He was warm, solid, and alive. Faced with everything he had been hoping for during the desperate days of the fresh year, Bård couldn't hold the tears any longer. He squeezed his brother and pressed his cheek against the side of his head, not minding the greasiness of the curls one bit.

“Let's go home,” Bård said when he could talk again. He stepped back and released his brother, instantly missing the contact. Vegard nodded and leaned forwards to undo the last remaining strap around his right ankle. While he was occupied with the task, Bård looked at the woman on the floor. She had been out cold for a long time. Bård suspected he might have killed her, or caused permanent brain damage. As much as she would deserve it, he didn't want to have that on his conscience. Bård knelt down and slid his fingers to her neck. A steady pulse met him.

“Is she dead?” Vegard asked. He was sitting on the bed, hugging his knees. Bård shook his head, uncertain if Vegard's subsequent reaction was that of relief or disappointment.

“Let's put her on the bed,” Bård suggested. He included his brother in the action, but Vegard's contribution was limited to staying out of the way. He sat on the floor with Bård's jacket wrapped around his shoulders and watched him manoeuvre the woman on the bed and strap her in the restraints, all the while shivering.

When the woman was secured, Bård dug out his phone and tried to reach Emilie again. She didn't answer. Bård put his phone back in his jeans pocket with a frustrated grunt, and held his hand out for his brother. Vegard took it and allowed Bård to pull him to his feet. Together they walked down the long corridor towards the main entrance and the hazy afternoon light waiting on the other side of it. Bård kept his arm around his brother and steadied his faltering steps. It was clear to him that Vegard had been through a lot, even if he didn't voice a single word of complaint. All Bård wanted was to take his brother home and never leave him out of his sight again, but he understood he had to notify the authorities and get Vegard checked out to make sure there weren't injuries that he was keeping to himself.

“Almost there,” Bård said and gave Vegard's shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

“Yeah,” Vegard agreed. He sounded utterly wrung dry. Just as Bård was wondering if he'd need to carry him the rest of the way, the door a few metres in front of them swung open. The brothers froze and saw two police officers slip inside with flashlights.

“We're here,” Bård said to draw their attention. The blades of light blinded him, and Bård felt Vegard flinch at his side.

“Bård?” Emilie asked. Hearing the familiar voice nearly brought tears to Bård's eyes. He blinked and nodded, relieved to allow the professionals to take control of the situation and release him from responsibility.

“She's further down the hallway,” Bård said and indicated the correct direction.

“Who?” the taller officer asked. He was sweeping the area with his light, trying to catch the smallest movements in the shadows.

“The crazy bitch who took my brother,” Bård said, voice dropping to a near growl. Vegard was shaking by his side, from exhaustion or fear, Bård couldnt' tell.

“I gotta take him out of here,” Bård said and started walking towards the door. Vegard followed without a word.

“I'll come with you. Wait here, Håvard.”

Emilie moved to take Vegard's other arm to help Bård support him, but he snatched his hand out of her reach and pressed against his brother's body before she could touch him. She took the hint and headed to the car parked by the entrance, reaching in for the radio to call in paramedics. Bård and Vegard followed her at a more sedate pace, unsure what to do once they reached the yard.

“Come sit,” Emilie instructed and opened the back door of the car. Bård guided his brother to the leather seat and made sure his jacket was snug around him. Once they were settled, Emilie returned to her partner and together they followed the hallway to where Bård said they'd left the woman, restrained and with a head injury.

Outside, Bård was standing by the open door, shielding his brother from the buffeting wind. Vegard was clutching the edges of the jacket, huddled into himself. The forest around them was silent, blanketed in snow and decorated with slowly falling flakes that had been dislodged from tall trees by the unpredictable wind.

The stillness started bothering Bård. He reckoned the police officers should've come out by then, or a car should've passed by, or something to break the frozen scene. Vegard seemed sunken into his memories, or perhaps he was simply too tired to engage. From out of nowhere, a tune drifted to Bård's mind, bringing comfort and warmth in its wake. He caught the melody and joined his voice with it, humming the song quietly under his breath. A childhood's lullaby, familiar and as deep as a mother's love.

When Bård had been humming for a while, Vegard suddenly perked up and looked at him. The stunned expression on his face made Bård stop.

“Are you really real?” Vegard asked. Bård wasn't quite certain whether he was being serious or not.

“I'm here,” Bård replied. “You're safe now.”

“That song...”

“What about it?” Bård asked, perhaps a little defensively.

“Nothing,” Vegard said. He fell silent for a long moment before he looked up at Bård again. “Could you continue?”

Bård didn't allow his surprise at the request show. Instead, he cleared his throat and resumed humming the melody, eventually advancing to singing the words when Vegard nodded his approval. Bård kept his voice low and leaned closer to his brother. Vegard pressed his head against Bård's stomach and sought his hand with his own. Fingers united, the brothers disappeared into a place where only they existed, free of all fear and hurt and hatred. The past faded, the present mattered little, and the future was wide open.

They were finally together again.

*****

The sun rose slowly, as if ashamed of its brightness. Bård watched as the growing rays illuminated the frozen sea, glittering on snowy ice. Further out he saw lazy waves break against the edges, darkening them with salty water. There was hope in the morning. A fresh day would bring with it challenges, but also possibilities. Just being alive and together with his brother was enough to put Bård on a good mood. He missed his family, but he wasn't ready to leave the cocoon he was inhabiting with his brother yet.

“Gonna be cold today,” Vegard said from behind Bård. He turned around and took in his brother's haggard appearance. Bård hadn't woken up to any outward disturbances, but it seemed that Vegard hadn't had a restful night.

“Maybe,” Bård replied and accepted the steaming mug his brother offered to him. The porch of their cabin was shielded from the wind, but it was still too cold to stand there in nothing but his pyjamas and robe for long. The hot tea helped a bit, but Bård knew he shouldn't linger, no matter how soothing he found the morning calm.

“Rough night?” Bård didn't look at his brother as he asked this. He allowed his gaze to flow from one wave to another on the exposed ocean, far from the edge of the ice.

“Fine,” Vegard replied. He took a sip from his mug, signalling an end to the conversation. Bård didn't press the issue. He would gain nothing by harassing his brother when he was unwilling to talk. When Vegard needed to open up, he was there to listen, and when all he required from Bård was silent support, he received an abundance of it. Their arrangement had worked well during the weeks they had spent at their family cabin, isolated from the rest of the world.

Vegard had at first returned home to his family, but after only one night it had become clear that he couldn't handle being around so many people so soon. Bård had blinked back tears when he saw Vegard flinch from his wife's touch and cringe at his children's joyous voices. What should've been a happy reunion had been awkward and painful to all parties. Bård had suggested that he and Vegard could retreat to their parents' cabin to do some brotherly bonding, making a scene out of apologising to his wife that he stole her husband away, as if they had a choice in the matter. Vegard followed with poorly hidden relief, either too scared or too discouraged to even try to force himself to bear the presence of his family.

They had made some progress. Vegard seemed calm and stable most of the time, but certain situations might remind him of his experiences, or he might suddenly be overcome by emotion with no discernible cause. Showers were the worst. Vegard could take one independently now, as long as he knew that Bård was in the vicinity, but he had struggled at first.

*****

“I'm gonna take a shower, here's a towel for you too,” Bård said and placed a neatly folded fluffy rectangle on the sofa next to his brother. Vegard muttered a thanks and resumed reading something on his phone. Bård made swift work of cleaning himself, not wanting to linger lest he use up all the hot water. Vegard had been very sensitive to cold since he returned, and Bård didn't want him to be unexpectedly doused in freezing water. He returned to the living room, drying his short hair, and nodded to his brother, signalling that the bathroom was unoccupied. But when Bård returned from the bedroom where he put on his pyjamas and from the kitchen where he drank some water, his brother was still sat on the sofa under a fleece blanket with no apparent intention of getting up in the near future. Bård thought nothing of it and sat down next to him, grabbing his own phone.

The evening progressed, and darkness fully descended. The brothers played a few card games together and lit a fire to bring some extra warmth and illumination. Bård was starting to think about making dinner when he realised that Vegard still hadn't moved a muscle. They'd been at the cabin for four days, and Bård couldn't remember seeing his brother wash his hair yet.

“I'm gonna start peeling potatoes, you might wanna hit the shower now so you'll be done by the time dinner's ready,” Bård suggested. Vegard raised his gaze from the book he was reading, looking as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. Bård was surprised by the reaction, but as his brother got up and disappeared through the bathroom door, he dismissed the odd look. Thinking only of golden root vegetables, Bård entered the kitchen and took up the peeler.

When the pot started boiling and Bård set the egg timer, he realised how much time had passed without him hearing any water running. With growing trepidation, Bård crossed the hallway and paused behind the bathroom door. He listened for a moment, but in the absence of pertinent sounds, he knocked lightly on the wood.

“Vegard? You okay in there?”

Only silence met Bård's query. Torn between wanting to give his brother some privacy and needing to make sure he was alright, Bård hesitated a while longer. He heard the ticking of the egg timer from the kitchen and decided he was accomplishing nothing by waiting.

“I'm coming in. Now is the opportunity to protest if you want me to stay out,” Bård said and lowered his hand on the metal handle. The door swung easily, unlocked as Bård had insisted on from the beginning of their sojourn. He stepped in, cautiously observing the room. The floor was still wet from his earlier shower, and there next to the drain was Vegard, naked and curled up as small as he could go.

“Vegard!” Bård shouted and dropped on his knees next to his brother. Vegard turned his head and made eye contact. Tears were visible on his cheeks and he lowered his gaze swiftly.

Bård cursed his helplessness. He hovered his hand by his brother's shoulder, afraid to touch in fear that he would aggravate the situation, but desperate to aid in any way he could.

“Do you wanna talk?” Bård asked, expecting a negative answer but needing to voice the question regardless.

“The water,” Vegard whispered. Bård waited, but his brother didn't seem inclined to continue. Judging by his state of dehydration when he was found, he hadn't been offered an abundance of liquids during his captivity. Bård assumed that might be the link to the current reaction.

“Was it too much?” Bård asked. As little as he wanted to push his brother, his instinct told him to pursue the issue this time, that Vegard would be ready to open up if given the encouragement.

“Yeah,” Vegard said. Another silence followed, during which Bård reached for the towel and wrapped it around Vegard's shoulders. Otherwise he made no moves, only sat by his brother and waited.

“You know the saying 'you can't drown in a bucket'?” Vegard asked. Bård hid his surprise and nodded. “She tried to drown me in a bath tub.”

The lack of emotion in Vegard's voice gave Bård chills. Although he sounded unaffected, Bård could tell how much the admission shook his brother. Connecting the dots between a near-drowning and the freely flowing water from the shower took no effort. Bård couldn't even comprehend the enormity of the trauma, how utterly terrified his brother must've been at the mercy of the woman, believing his life would end. She no longer posed a threat to them, but a feeling of security would not come with logic.

“She didn't succeed,” Bård reminded, and this time he did lower his hand on Vegard's shoulder, squeezing through the soft material of the towel.

“I know,” Vegard said. “But how can I ever forget it?”

“You won't. But in time the memory will fade and become less potent.”

“What do I do in the meanwhile? I can't even take a fucking shower without crying like a goddamn baby.”

“You're not alone,” Bård reminded. Gently, he peeled the towel off his brother and stood up to set it on a hook. He leaned down and offered Vegard his hand. The older brother took it with a look of confusion on his flushed face. Bård quickly rid himself of his pjs, underpants and socks, then stepped closer to Vegard again. With his brother pressed against his side, Bård approached the shower and reached for the tap. Once the water started flowing, Vegard flinched, but his brother's arm prevented him from escaping, not through force but by acting as a barrier against the memories.

“Okay?” Bård asked. They hadn't stepped under the cascade yet, and Vegard displayed no intention of approaching the water on his own. “I'm right here, you're safe.”

Bård saw his brother stare at the water, presumably a thousand thoughts and fears boiling in his mind. But he had that determined squint around his eyes, the one that meant he would do what needed to be done, no matter how he felt about it. Bård felt fierce pride for Vegard in that moment. Even though he was shaking, all muscles tensed, and his eyes were still moist and breath coming a bit too fast, he took a tentative step forwards. Bård thought he should pull his hand away and let his brother do this on his own, but at the slightest lightening of the touch, Vegard froze and tensed even further. Taking the hint, Bård allowed the full weight of his arm rest across his brother's shoulders. Encouraged by the contact, Vegard dove under the flowing water.

The shower was short and superficial, but as soon as Vegard had been fully immersed he started showing signs of increasing distress and Bård decided it was enough. They'd try again in a couple of days. Just getting this far had taken so much willpower and determination that Bård assumed Vegard would be utterly spent. He turned off the tap and reached for the towel. Vegard stared at the water on the floor, slowly flowing towards the drain. His shoulders were still slumped, but the tenseness was dissipating. He only seemed tired now.

“Come,” Bård said when Vegard made no move on his own. He held the towel open and Vegard stepped into the fluffy shelter, allowing Bård to rub his hair with one corner of the cloth. His curls would be a mess later, but that was unimportant. Together they made their way to the bedroom they shared and dressed in silence, each too raw from the emotions that had surfaced to inflict them on the other.

*****

Bård sipped his tea and thought about how far his brother had come in such a short time. He wasn't ready to leave the cabin yet and return to his regular life to pick up all the responsibilities that were on hold at the moment, but he was getting there, with unyielding determination and a hearty dose of humour. They had reached a balance of sorts, an agreement on how to do things without talking about them or questioning them. Showers had been shared experiences for a while, with Bård's hand on Vegard's back while he washed his hair so that he could feel his brother's presence and support even when he couldn't see him or hear him. And gradually it had been enough for Bård to be in the same room, sitting on the closed toilet lid, fiddling with his phone while Vegard swiftly cleaned himself. Perhaps the time of departure was approaching, since now it was enough for Vegard to know that Bård was in the same building, within shouting distance.

The sun rose higher, travelling towards its modest winter zenith. Bård was starting to get unbearably cold, and he longed for some warm breakfast. Vegard had disappeared inside while his brother had been lost in thought. He still didn't like feeling cold, and spent most of his time indoors. Bård both understood it and took advantage of it. He wasn't proud of it, but he sometimes came to the porch to think and to be alone, to escape the needs of his brother. As much as he loved him and wanted to support him at all times, he needed the short moments for himself. The cold seemed to charge him and give him the fortitude to be strong.

A seagull released its long wail to the crisp morning air. Bård turned around and headed back inside. Vegard had made sandwiches with their remaining supplies. They were sad and lacking, but showed tenacity in their improvised nature.

“Is that the leftover pasta from dinner?” Bård asked as he picked up a sandwich laden with noodles and fried vegetables.

“Yep. We'll have to go for groceries today,” Vegard said. Bård took a bite off the bread and chewed thoroughly before his brain caught the change in the phrasing.

“We?” he asked after swallowing. Vegard nodded in reply.

“You sure?” Bård asked.

“Yeah. It's time.”

Bård felt a swelling of pride in his chest. At first he'd asked Vegard to join him for the excursions to town, but after he received a negative answer several times, he'd stopped asking. This was the first time Vegard volunteered to accompany him, and he didn't seem overly anxious about leaving the cabin for a while either. Bård hid his smile behind a cup of tea.

“You know, there's one thing we should look for while we're shopping,” Bård started, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

“What's that?” Vegard asked.

“Well we have some unfinished business, something of extreme importance that needs to be settled.”

“Oh?” Vegard appeared to be getting nervous now, swallowing the bait.

“You owe me a guitar.”

The sound of two brothers laughing echoed off the barren rocks by the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> Thank you to all who have left feedback on this silly one-shot that became something a bit more. I'm sorry for how long it took me to complete it, but here we finally are. Thank you for sticking with me.


End file.
